And Time
by RhondaStar
Summary: Modern AU: Three children grew up on the grand estate of Downton together: Beryl, Charles & Elsie. When one left their world changed, but years later she is back and their worlds are set to change again.
1. Chapter 1

_**Started this a long time ago but I'm finally ready to have a go at something new - I hope you enjoy.**_

 ** _For around 6 years during my student days I worked on the estate at Chatsworth which gave me a pretty good idea of how these grand old houses run. This story is partly inspired by the things I learned there._**

* * *

 **And Time – chapter 1**

 **The Past**

The boy was born first. Over twenty-four hours in labour and a long-limbed baby screeched into the world, a stubborn little bugger from those first minutes.

His sister arrived just over three years later, with flaming red hair like her father and her mother's short stature and plump little arms.

They were oddities when together. Him tall and dark, she short and red. Him serious and precise, her always teasing and laughing. He liked numbers and tradition, she liked cooking and parties. Most of the time they lived in harmony, small cogs on a grand Yorkshire estate; they played in the fields, they chased the sheep, they wiled away those long summer days of childhood.

As different as they were they shared one great love – Elsie Hughes.

* * *

 **Present Day**

She wouldn't have gone had it not been for her daughter. There was an event, dressage, and Etty was so desperate to get back into it all now they'd moved. And so she'd been dragged along on a Sunday, at a time when she would usually have been settling down to the afternoon _Marple_ or pottering in the garden, the sun being out after all.

Not that she had a garden. The dim flat they were currently renting was like living back in the 1980s, all faded grey walls and the stench of damp. She'd never imagined life would bring her back to Yorkshire, to this village, and she'd certainly never imagined that if, and when, she did return she would end up in some shit tip like this.

Money had been tight since she'd sold the shop. And nobody was ever in a rush to pay you your dues; she'd filled in a hundred forms; the state was yet to respond in the form of a cheque. Bastards.

Her daughter was persuasive though. She'd been born that way, smart tongue, quick brain, she never missed a beat. Fourteen and already taller than her mother, better looking, more talented. She wanted to give her every possible advantage, but life never went the way of the plan.

"Mum, you missed the turning," Ethel said, jumping forward in her seat. "Take the next right instead," she stared at her phone as it recalculated. "Added a couple of minutes but looks like we're okay."

"Oh crap," Elsie quickly glanced in her mirror then took the turning. "It said ten minutes."

"Yeah, and you go lost twice, I thought you grew up here."

"Years ago, things change. What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Ethel held up her phone, staring wide-eyed at it, "There's no signal in this shitty place."

"Don't use language like that. The plan for getting you on the team?"

"I need a horse first, and we can't afford it –,"

"Oh don't be dramatic."

"We can't! We had beans on toast three nights last week, we're poor."

"Hardly poor, just, being _careful_ at the moment." She tapped on the steering wheel as they joined the end of a queue, smart cream cardboard signs showing where event parking was. "And we don't need to buy a horse, we just need to find a club for you to join, then they'll see how talented you are and there we go, you're in." She slapped her hand on her daughter's legs, "Feet down off the seat. And it's not a shitty place, it's a beautiful place, they just have poor phone signals. But you know, swings and roundabouts. Least they have horses, hey."

Ethel rolled her eyes, glancing out of the window. "Anyone you know here?"

"Maybe, my friend."

"The one I've never met."

"I think you were three last time she saw you, then we moved back to Scotland and it's not so quick a journey. She sends you a card every birthday though, give her that."

"She know you're back?"

"Not yet."

* * *

Something about the back of her head made him stop. The babble in his walkie-talkie continued and he lowered it, enfolding it in his palm to block the noise. The main showground was heaving, midday and the height of the events.

He stood still, giving his eyes time to focus. Her hair was the same golden strawberry he remembered, not faded as in photographs from the past, greyed with dust and time. He fancied he caught her perfume on the breeze, whipping her hair up, longer now than it had been in her youth. Her shoulders were softer, sloped more, and her hips fuller.

He gingerly stepped forward, resurfacing in the crowd, bumps to his arms as he crossed the bruised grass and closed the space between them.

From what he could see she was alone, she shuffled from foot-to-foot – dark jeans, canvas shoes, a black top striped with gold – bare arms; she shone in the sunshine. Those freckles made him smile.

He reached forward before she disappeared, a hand to her shoulder and she turned quickly, a frown at first and then brightness, red lips curving into a smile, bright eyes cresting the hill.

There was the hint of a question to her voice, "Charles?"

"Hello Elsie."

* * *

The sun was warm, mid-afternoon and high.

A shadow crossed her neck, shielding her upper arms from the heat. She turned towards the source of the blackout, blinking as a plastic cup was held out to her.

"Lemonade, you said."

"Thank you," she took the cup from him, sipping the sparkling liquid.

"So –," they said in unison, and she paused, smiled. "Go on."

"I was just going to say I didn't know you were back, are you…?"

"Back? I guess so, for the time being anyhow."

"Does Beryl know?"

Elsie shook her head, "Not yet, it was an impulsive decision, truth be told. We've been in Northumberland a few years and I just… things happen, felt like revisiting."

"I always wondered if you would. She'll be ecstatic, all these years."

"Is she working today?"

"No, not for something like this, just vans, awful really, burgers and the like but it makes money so we have it."

She shielded her eyes, looking up at his height. The smartly tailored tweed jacket, a mustard shirt, brown leather brogues. He looked every inch the country gent. "You've done well for yourself though, Beryl wrote at Christmas how successful everything was. The house and such."

"Things have blossomed yes, we brought in new things, ideas…" the walkie-talkie crackled in his jacket pocket. "Oh, sorry."

"No, I am, you're working, I'm keeping you."

He flicked the red button on top of the machine to momentarily silence it. "I'd like to catch up. It's good to see you here." He briefly touched her arm, a fleeting moment as he squeezed then retracted. "It's so busy today."

"I have to go find my daughter anyhow, might see you later if not I'm sure I'll be popping down next week, I need to see Beryl, get her phone number." She shrugged awkwardly, "Reconnect properly with her."

"She'll be so happy," he said, then realised he was repeating himself. "Well, so good to see you Elsie."

"And you, thank you for the lemonade."

He nodded, "You're welcome, enjoy the show. Feel free to pass on any feedback!" He laughed as he walked away; perhaps more jovial but with a strange feeling in his stomach, something akin to toothache.

* * *

 **The Past**

August and the days are hazy. So hot the grass is crisp, sharp around the ankles, and the skies above blend into one long chalk mark of blue.

The river at the house, running through the grounds, is wide and gaping. The banks heave with tourists, for it is still free then; cars can be abandoned and the walk down across the field takes no more than three minutes. Deer hide in the trees over the other side of the park, in the shade, away from the noise. Nosy sheep test the resolve of drivers as they wander aimlessly across the road.

The three teenagers know the system by now. Two have grown up on the estate, their father a worker, a groundsman, their mother a cook. Their cottage lies some two miles from the house and they follow the river as it winds up through the valley, to where it thins and meanders. It is quiet here and with their friend they can remove shoes and hop about in the water in their shorts.

Charles has spent most of the year pretending he's too old for the girls. At seventeen he is thinking of his future, of moving away, perhaps rebelling at the country ideals and going to London for University. His father can't afford it and it's unheard of for boys of his type, but he's born and bred on the estate and the Duke is almost a grandfather – he has plans, he just hasn't told his family yet.

His sister is just fourteen, her friend still thirteen, a baby really. They squeal like babies as they splash down the river and he lies on the grass and watches. There's a ladybird on his sunglasses and it seems to be crawling over Beryl's head, blocking his view of her as she bends to splash her friend. Elsie gasps as the water soaks through her vest top, kicking up her leg, her toes sending droplets of water spinning through the air.

"Come on fatty, she's gonna win!" Charles teases, shouting down to his baby sister who is still struggling with her puppy fat.

"Bugger off, Lurch!"

He chuckles at her retort; he is tall even for his age, and dark, 'brooding' his mother keeps saying. He knows he is attractive to the girls, it comes easily, he stands out compared to the other local lads. He is smart too, he listens in school, and he doesn't want to settle for some manual labour role. Not that he cares for the lasses that throw themselves at him, he's got his eye on Alice Tanner and nothing else will do. She is rich, haughty, blonde and bloody gorgeous.

He jumps to his feet, throwing aside the long piece of grass he'd been splintering with his nail.

"You gotta move faster, Bezza," he calls down, kicking off his shoes and wading into the river. "Light on the stones as you jump, she'll win you at this rate."

"She's too fast, her legs are longer!" Beryl calls to him but he is already moving down the river, chasing after Elsie.

The younger girl giggles as she hops from one rock to the other, bare feet clinging to the shiny dampness. First to the old white gate that used to mark the edge of the estate, there's a new nail varnish in it if she wins and though neither of them have any money somehow Beryl always manages to have more new things than Elsie. Girly things that Elsie's mother tells her are a sign of vanity and a waste of hard earned money.

She gasps when a sharp edge catches her toe, bites her lip for fortitude and jumps again, slipping slightly.

"If I get there first the prize is mine," Charles booms behind her and she quickens her jump as she feels his shadow at her back.

"You want nail varnish!" Beryl laughs behind him, already giving up.

"Pay me in food, a chocolate cake Bezza."

"Elsie has to make it too," she calls back.

He is close now, Elsie keeps her mouth closed, saving her energy, plus she's the quieter of the three, has been since she was four and they met at the village fair.

"Gonna get you Elsie," he warns, then he's jumping past her and they aim for the next rock. She slips, her gangly legs flying from under her, and he reaches to catch her, he cannot stop her feet from missing and landing in the water but he prevents her body falling in.

His hand grazes over her vest top as she wobbles precariously, it takes no more than ten seconds, but fleetingly the buds of her new breasts tickle his palms and he pulls away quickly. Flushed.

She blobs out her tongue, too young to know what he'd touched and how it felt. "Slow coach!" She teases, and she is off, pounding down the river and hoisting herself up the bank and on to the gate. "Elsie Hughes, 1, 2, 3!" she cries triumphantly and Beryl shouts her delight.

In the bath that night he washed away the summer day, and the memory of her breast made his body react in a way he was embarrassed to admit. He never told a soul. He never forgot.

* * *

 **The Present**

It can be years, too many to count, and yet when true friends meet again joy overrides distance and time.

There are hugs in the courtyard that drizzling Monday morn, it is quiet and Beryl's hands are covered in flour, for she has only just put the first batch of cherry scones into the mouth of the oven.

"Where's your kid?"

"In school, first day, she's nervous as hell and the blazer doesn't fit."

Beryl smiles, "Bring her though, would love to meet her."

"Course. Sorry to surprise you like this, I would've called but your number changed and then… you know, time passes and it gets awkward."

"You're living here though, if she's at school?"

Elsie shrugs, she still hasn't decided exactly what she's doing. "A flat in town, only renting at the moment but we'll see what happens. Sorry to take you from work," she says, eyeing the chef smoking behind the old toilet block.

"Bugger him, come on into the restaurant, we aren't open for an hour but you can have a cup of tea, a warm scone."

"Oh god, remember your mother used to give us those smothered in butter when we were little."

"I can do the same." She takes her old friend's arm, leading her in from the rain.

"It's impressive now, I don't remember all this glass section," she is shrugging off her coat, gazing around. "It's bigger."

"Million more customers a year, and this is all Charles, he sketched it out, had it built on."

"Did he? Like a giant conservatory." She takes a seat, the chair legs rattling on the tiled floor. "I saw him yesterday, at the horsey thing."

"He never said, mind you, we didn't speak last night. I'm pissed off with him because at latest staff meeting he's proposing cutting how long we close at Christmas. We used to get all January off, remember, everything closed up in Winter."

"I do remember, it was one of the things that made my father relocate the farm."

"It's all about money now, even suggested we buy in some frozen goods!"

"Good god," Else faked scandal, "did you bludgeon him?"

"With a rolling pin, of course." They laughed, as old friends do. "It's ever since the split, he's got time on his hands and an overwhelming desire to prove he's still worthy of them keeping him on now he's divorcing the Duke's sister."

Elsie shook her head, "I feel like I'm catching up on year's worth of Emmerdale in thirty seconds."

"You know he married Rosamund?"

"Yes, you told me that, a long time ago. They're divorced?"

"In process of, eat your scone before it cools."

"Why?"

"It's better warm."

"No, the divorce."

"Oh, yeah, well, long flipping story there but not one for this room, if you get my meaning. Too many gossips in a small village. You can't fart without someone passing judgement."

Elsie laughed, covering her mouth as she did so crumbs flying into her palm.

"What?"

"Nothing, I'd just forgotten how open you can be. I missed it."

Beryl covered Elsie's hand on the table with hers, "Well, let's hope you're here to stay."

Elsie sighed, "I need a job."

"You sold your shop?"

"Couldn't afford to employ people to run it whilst I, well, you know, what with the operation and all I couldn't work. It doesn't matter."

"You were a good seamstress, that top you sent me one year for my birthday, that was quality."

"Well, might've lost the knack, been a couple of years now since I made anything. Gonna have a drive into town after this, have a look around the job centre. _Unskilled aging woman seeks employment, please._ What do you reckon?"

"You need to work on your CV love."

* * *

 **The Past**

School hasn't started yet September is in the air. The leaves have already turned over, their backs a sign of displeasure at the coming of Autumn. It is already cooler, those long light days shrinking into nothing but pebbles kicked about in the yard.

Six weeks seems an eternity when you're nine and have no cares. The most important thing to Charles was his bike and his slingshot. He was spot on now, after days aiming it at the broad chested Oak in the back yard. He can take a leaf from an overhanging branch with a single shot whilst lying on his back in the garden.

"Hey, watch it," he cries as someone trips over his leg on the grass.

Lazily, he lifts his shoulders and squints ahead, a waif of a girl blinking back at him. She's wearing plaited pigtails and there's mud on her cheek. She stares at him, wide-eyed, open mouth forming an 'o', chubby cheeks and a pointed chin.

"Well, aren't you going to say sorry?" He asks, haughty to the stranger in his garden. "You stood on my leg."

For a second he thinks she'll cry and he briefly visualises a thrashing from his father for bringing a guest to tears. Then she lifts her head, brings a hand to her hip and bites her bottom lip, "Are you Charlie?"

"Might be."

"Beryl says you smell of boy stuff."

"Yeah." He gets on his knees, "Well, she's a girl, so she's stupid. Who are you?"

"Elsie." She suddenly holds out her hand, "Hello."

He thinks on it, then shakes her little hand. "Your voice is kinda funny."

"It's Scottish, I'm Scottish."

"Right. What you doing in Yorkshire then?"

"Da is working the farm."

"Da? Do you mean your Dad?"

She nods, "We've got cows here, we didn't in Scotland."

"There's cows all over the estate."

"We've got brown cows."

Charles nods as if he understands.

"Elsie!" Beryl shouts as she rides her bike into the yard. "Come on, we can bike down to the mud heap and climb to the top."

"You ain't allowed there," Charles interrupts. "You're too little."

"I don't have a bike," Elsie says sadly.

"You come Charl, Elsie can go on with you."

"No way, I'm not hanging out with little kids."

Beryl kicks him in the kneecap as she rides past, "Don't be a mushy mashy monster."

* * *

Elsie clings to his waist as they fly down the lane, the wind easing her hair free from its plaits. She can't help the laughter in her stomach – she's never been this fast on a bike. The chain is digging into her ankle and the seat is so big she's dangerously bobbing about on top of it but none of that matters because they're flying over the top of the hill and she's laughing at her freedom and the boy pounding the pedals is laughing in her ear.

* * *

 **The Present**

"Father," Mary says dramatically, leaning around the office door. "You're late, they're ready to start."

"Mm, be right there," Charles stares at the computer screen, inching the mouse across his desk and tapping it. "Trying to print these notes for it, juuuust… ah, damn thing, it clicks where it wants."

"You're useless at that," she moves behind him, bending to click 'file-print' on the document. "Did you draft the advert for the new positions yet?"

"Yes, you wanna spellcheck them for me?" He teased, getting up from his chair and reaching for his jacket.

Mary screwed her mouth up, smiling at his teasing. "No I trust you."

"Eager to take over already?"

"Ah, but that would mean giving up on London and business school."

"Don't waste those fees!"

Mary rolled her eyes as she took the printed document and stapled it together; it wasn't even her father's money paying for it, but she let that be.

"You spoken to your mother?" Charles asked, finding his briefcase and heading out down the corridor with her.

"Saw her last week, we went to the theatre, had dinner."

"She's alright, then?"

Mary nodded, "Seems okay."

"Planning to stay in the London flat?"

"Daaad," Mary sighed. "Why don't you just ring her, ask?"

"Because this is a precarious position I'm in, in case you haven't noticed."

"I don't see how. Uncle Robert is fine with it, with you. You know he thinks you're doing a great job, he's hardly about to sack you because you and mum have finally called it quits."

"If your mother clicked her fingers he'd do it. Blink of an eye. I'm dispensable."

"As if."

"I am. I may have married your mother but I've never been part of the family, far too common."

Mary sighed again, annoyed, "Dad, I don't want to hear this. You are part of this, you're our father for a start and _we_ are part of it. Barrow's all set for taking over once Uncle Rob kicks the bucket, lucky sod was born with balls. Unlike myself."

"Your black and white view of the world is always enlightening."

"If things were fair then Edith would be in line for the throne, but she isn't, god bless us all."

"Now don't start on her."

"Drippy cow couldn't organise a kid's birthday party let alone run the estate."

"Mary, just because she doesn't have your drive. And you did steal her boyfriend."

They stopped at the entrance to the meeting room, heads of department were gathered inside waiting for the weekly briefing.

"He made his choice," Mary said, turning to straighten her father's tie. "Besides, it hardly lasted. She could've had him back."

"Too much of your mother in you at times," he kissed his daughter's forehead. "You coming in?"

"No, I'll go for a wander, check on the workers. Meet you later for dinner in the restaurant?"

"Sure."

She squeezed his arms, "See you later, good luck, knock em dead," she smiled gloriously, lighting up his world.

* * *

 **The Present**

They met in town for lunch, Beryl's day off and Elsie was still without work. She didn't want her to see the inside of the flat she was renting, nor indeed the part of town they were living in.

It was late April, raining lightly and the sun through it.

"You look pale," Beryl said, cutting her sandwich in half and swapping it with half of Elsie's.

"I'm always pale."

"No, I mean you look really pale, are you feeling off it?"

Elsie shook her head, "No, tired maybe, not sleeping great if I'm honest."

She poured the tea, this was their fifth meeting since she'd moved back to the area and they'd quite easily slipped back into the role of best friends.

"How come?" Beryl asked, licking lemon mayonnaise from her thumb. "Come on, you're meant to share stuff."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "I'm not used to, you know, been just me and Etty for so long."

"Well, things are different now. So, spill, and I'll help."

Elsie sipped her tea, turning the words over in her mouth before she spoke. "I'm poor." She stated simply. "I've applied for a couple of jobs and nothing. I'm too old and too unskilled."

"Bollocks," Beryl spluttered, biting into her sandwich. "You ran your own business."

"Which failed."

"Come on, you were really ill."

Elsie grimaced at the mention of it, looking away through the window. "I'm better now."

"Thank goodness, and you know, there's jobs at the estate."

Elsie frowned, putting her tea cup down. "You don't think that's a bit… like, you know, we grew up there, your parents did it, my dad was the farmer. And you and Charles." She shrugged, "I just didn't think I'd end up back here."

"It's not that bad," Beryl bristled. "I've had my entire career here."

"I didn't mean –," Elsie's stomach cringed. "Sorry." She paused, breaking off the corner of her sandwich. "It isn't bad at all, not at all. Oh shit, that came out all wrong."

"Don't worry. Have you been round the house since you got back?"

She shook her head, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment.

"You should, I can sign you in for free. It's changed a lot since we were kids, as much as it pains me to say, Charles has made some great changes."

"He seems to love it."

"He does, trouble is…" she shook her head, refilling their tea. "The trouble is I worry it's all he has."

"You mean, with the divorce?"

"No honey, Rosamund is a bitch," she whispered, holding Elsie's gaze. "Make no mistake about that. He's lived for work for years and years to escape her. I worried about him. Remember when we were kids how tall and brave he seemed to us, he'd defend us, protect us."

"I remember," to them as little girls Charles was a hero.

"That faded somewhat, she chipped away at it."

"Why did he marry her? He must have loved her."

"Yes, I guess so, in his own blind and misguided way. He was always seeking something, wanting more. Not just to work on the estate, he somehow saw himself as part of the family and marrying her made that real, like he was always destined for it."

Elsie pursed her lips, reflecting on it. "Hard to feel sympathy for him, if that's the case."

"At times, yes. And he's a pompous old sod too, always knows best, and sometimes forgets his staff are humans not robots. But he's also very lonely, and still very kind. Deep down."

Elsie smiled at that, "He walked me home in the rain once, I couldn't have been more than nine and he didn't want me to go home alone so he walked me."

"Nice of him."

"It was."

"Will you come to the house then, if you let me know when I'll put your name down at the entrance so you can get in for free. Otherwise it's nearly thirty quid a ticket now! Bring Etty too, then you could have lunch in the restaurant after, make a day of it."

"That does sound nice, maybe this weekend, we don't have plans and as yet she's sticking with me because she hasn't made enough friends to disappear with."

"Give it another week, you might never see her."

* * *

 **The Past**

"You're such a baby!" Beryl shouted, "Baby, baby Elsie!"

"I am not! You're a baby. You took my pink pen."

"I did not. Bessy Turner took it and hid it in the coat rack."

"She said you took it, and my penguin rubber and you put them in the toilet and Mrs. Green will find them and now you'll be in trouble. I'll tell."

"Swot! You're always sucking up."

"You're jealous because I got full marks on spellings and you didn't."

Beryl shoved Elsie in the chest, "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone."

Elsie stumbled backwards, the ache in her chest a mixture of physical and emotional pain. "You promised you were my friend and you went off at sports day and left me on my own."

"Because you can't skip and we'd lose."

Elsie shoved Beryl back, feeling tears sting her eyes. "At least I can spell."

"I hate you," Beryl screeched racing towards Elsie.

She bumped into her desk chair as Elsie jumped out of the way and landed on her bum, Elsie looking down at her. Beryl swung out her leg and whacked Elsie in the ankle, and the slender girl toppled forward on top of her friend. They rolled around on the rug, pulling each other's hair and screaming and shouting.

* * *

Charles came through the back door, soaking wet from the rain and with his Scouts uniform fastened to him like a second skin. His legs were coated in mud to the knee and he couldn't get the grit of earth from between his teeth. His mother had promised Shepherd's Pie for dinner and he hungrily opened the oven door looking for his plate. At thirteen, he seemed constantly hungry and growing like a weed.

There was a nice slab of pie keeping warm and a pan of gravy on the top of the cooker; he lit the gas ring and let it heat through whilst he rinsed his hands. Orienteering in October was no fun but he wanted the badge before Christmas; if he got four more it meant a special gift of his choice and he was desperate for a new bike.

As he searched for a towel on the radiator beneath the drying t-shirts and socks, the lounge door was thrown open and Elsie flounced in. She dropped to the floor and reached for her battered canvas shoes.

"Alright?" He said casually, stirring his gravy and watching her struggle with her laces. It took him some time to realise her fingers were shaking and she wasn't making eye-contact. "What's up?"

"Nothing." She said, and he thought her throat sounded sore. "I'm going home."

"It's raining bad."

"So."

Charles shrugged, "Just saying."

He took his plate from the oven, holding it with the towel and plonking it on the kitchen table before pouring over most of the gravy. He kicked off his dirty boots and pulled out a seat, lifting his knife and fork and then looking up as Elsie got to her feet. Her face was red and her hair messy as it tumbled from her ponytail.

"Gee, what happened? You fall off the top bunk again?"

"No," she snapped. "Can I have my coat?"

Charles realised it was on his chair and he moved as she took hold of it and pulled it on. He chewed slowly, trying to ignore her snuffle as she zipped up the yellow jacket.

The door swung open for a second time and Beryl barged in, seething with anger and annoyance.

"Thought you was going!"

"I am!" Elsie snapped.

"Good. Get gone quicker."

Charles' fork paused in mid-air as he watched the interchange.

"Stupid baby," Beryl said watching Elsie struggle with the door lock.

"You're stupid, and I want my pen back, and my friendship necklace too."

"Hey," Charles interrupted, "You shouldn't walk home alone, it's dark now and raining."

"I don't care," Elsie said, opening the door and stepping out beneath the porch. She stood there watching the heavy raindrops bounce up from the garden path as the door swung closed behind her.

"What's kicking off?" Charles asked, looking to Beryl's flushed face. "You two fighting?"

"I hate her, I won't ever speak to her again."

He raised his eyebrows, chewing another piece of pie. "Where's mum and dad?"

"Went next door for a drink with Sue and Fred."

"Oh," he looked to the porch again and realised Elsie was still standing there and a funny feeling seeped into his stomach. "She's only just nine," he said, but Beryl was searching in the biscuit jar for Jammy Dodgers.

"I'm going to watch television, mum said I could so don't get switching my shows." She snapped at him.

"Right, gonna have a bath after my dinner anyhow, freezing out there tonight."

Beryl left him alone again and he cut off another piece of pie and smothered it in gravy before eating. The little girl was still standing in the rain on the doorstep and he knew, whether he liked it or not, he had a responsibility.

"Bugger it," he muttered, getting up and opening the door. "Want me to walk you home?" He asked and Elsie turned, large blue eyes looking up at him as she nodded sadly.

* * *

Charles kicked at a stone on the pavement, watching as it hurtled away down the street and into the gutter. The downpour had slowed to a lazy drizzle but it was cold and dark and he wanted to be finishing his dinner and thinking about getting into the bath, maybe have a read of his cricket magazine – not walking home a teary little girl who was silent and kept sniffling back tears.

"Halloween soon," he suddenly stated, trying to find some common topic, "what you going as?"

She shrugged, hands buried in her pockets.

"We always go," he said. The estate held a great Halloween Bonfire Night party for the tenants every year, there was always a bonfire, fireworks, and sticky sweet food. "I'm thinking I might go as a swamp monster, I can get stuff from the lake, stick it to my old joggers. Paint my face green," he elbowed her arm, "what you reckon?"

She shrugged again, then looked up slowly, "Bez and I were meant to go as twins, joined up, we made a dress." Her eyes crunched up, "I sewed two dresses together so we could share it."

"Why can't you still go as that?"

"Cos she hates me, I don't care because I hate her too!"

Charles breathed deeply – he hated girls and their stupid arguments – but still, he didn't like seeing Elsie upset neither, he'd known her for five years now and though he often felt like he was growing out of hanging out with them, there were times in the summer holidays when the three of them would spend days and days together exploring the woods.

"Just a row."

"She was mean."

"She can be, but we all fall out, you and I fell out the other week."

"Because you threw the football at my nose."

He laughed, "Yeah, I did." He elbowed her again, "Come on. It'll be over soon, you'll be best friends tomorrow and then we can go to the party in a week and eat candy apples."

She pouted, "They make fun of me, the other girls at school, because of my voice. And because I get top marks in the class ad they don't like it."

"Oh," he knew how that felt, he couldn't name one lad from school he was close friends with.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"Secret?"

"Promise."

"Well, the other day, I didn't get the highest mark on the spelling test. But, I did know them, I pretended I didn't so I wouldn't win."

"Oh," he said again, wondering what he was meant to say to that. His stomach was rumbling and he thought his mother had left crumble for pudding.

"Do you think it's cheating?"

He shook his head, "Nah, just doing it to win is cheating. I'd say just do the test, if you get them right then that's good, if them other girls don't like it tough."

"But… Beryl doesn't like it," she said softly, "she wants to be with the other girls."

He couldn't for the life of him fathom why.

"No she doesn't, you two are best friends, it'll be nothing."

"She doesn't like me."

"Course she does," he pushed open her garden gate for her and followed her to the door. "Just be alright, tomorrow, you'll see her at school and it'll be okay."

She turned to face him, "Thanks for bringing me home Charlie," she said.

He dug his frozen hands into his pocket, "S'alright. Seeya round."

"Yeah. Seeya."

He watched her disappear inside before he set off home.

Beryl and Elsie didn't speak for over a week.

Charles was beginning to think he might never spend a summer with the two of them ever again and, quite oddly, that bothered him more than it should have. He was grateful when he came home from Chess Club one night to find them in the lounge dancing to Top of the Pops and slurping Cola.

He sat in his Dad's chair eating fish and chips from the newspaper and inwardly chuckling at their dance routines. Clearly the war was over and he was glad; it was the only time in their entire childhood he could remember them falling out and it had come of something as a shock to realise he felt sad about the entire thing. The thought of never seeing Elsie Hughes again upset him, made his stomach sink, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

Somehow this slip of a girl with a strange accent had gone from being his little sister's best friend, to his friend too.

* * *

 ** _Please let me know your thoughts :)_**


	2. Chapter 2

_Inspirations: Of course Chelsie was my main love on Downton - but i also really liked how in the later years Mary & Branson began to take over some of the running of things, which is part of the inspiration here. I also loved Ethel and was a bit sorry Amy left as I felt there was more they could've done there._

* * *

 **And Time – chapter 2**

 **The Past**

Charles Carson stood tall and imperious. Despite his youth he was formidable. In fact, perhaps was in because of his youth that he seemed even more formidable; the stance of a captain, hands on hips, the fixed glare, the voice beginning to crack and change.

"I'm not taking you if you're gonna be little kids about it."

"You're twelve; you're not a grown up." Beryl said, "You can't boss us."

Elsie twirled her hair between her fingers, balancing on the pavement edge, "We don't have to go."

"Dad said he had to take us, so we're going," Beryl bossed. "We can play in the river whilst he fishes."

"I'm not gonna catch many fish if you're bounding up and down the water, idiot."

"We could take a picnic," Elsie suggested. "Mum just made shortbread, I could get some for us."

"Yep, and I'll make sandwiches and get some pop," Beryl said, "you think we could walk past Peters' farm on the way back and get some of their ice cream, Charlie?"

He pulled a face, "S'pose so," he said reluctantly, though that particular idea held promise, especially if they had their strawberry ice-cream.

* * *

An hour later the three of them biked out of the village, the picnic split between the baskets at the front of Beryl and Elsie's bikes, Charles' fishing equipment strapped to his back.

Bikes were abandoned at the end of the gravel path and they walked the rest of the way to the river; the girls singing as Charles led them to his favourite spot, there was an overhanging willow tree that provided good shade if it got too hot and the other fishermen would never walk this far to fish so it meant seclusion and peace and quiet. It was the way Charles liked things, even at this young age; peace and calm and order.

The girls stripped to their swim wear and cooled in the water as Charles arranged his fishing equipment. Beryl searched for minnows and Elsie sat on a rock enjoying the sunshine on her face, though she was careful not to have too much, she knew how her freckles started to redden if she sat out too long; the perils of being a red head.

She watched as Charles hooked up his line, narrowing her eyes as she took in his movements and noting how everything worked.

"Are you putting real worms on the line?" Elsie asked, and he looked up, surprised she was watching.

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I have a go?"

"Urgh, you're going to touch the worms?" Beryl said, wading through the water to where Elsie sat.

"You want to be a cook," Elsie said, hopping off her rock and heading towards the bank. "You'll have to chop up meat and guts and stuff."

"Yeah, so."

Charles laughed, "So she's saying you better get used to stuff like this!" he dangled the worm in the air, "Want it Bezza?"

"Don't you dare!"

"It'll match your hair."

"Don't be a meanie," she whined and took a seat on the rock Elsie had vacated.

"Meanie," Elsie teased, standing on her tiptoes to grab the worm. She tugged it from his fingers and watched it squirm in the palm of her hand.

"You're not scared of stuff?" Charles asked, intrigued by this slight girl; girls were usually whining and tearful about any kind of creepy crawly.

"Not worms," she said confidently, "feel a bit bad for killing it."

"Think how many there are, you dig the garden you'd find hundreds."

"I guess," she looked up as he dangled the hook in front of her.

"Careful though, don't cut your finger."

She took tight hold of it, precise as she jabbed it through.

"Wow, you're brutal."

"I live on a farm, there's death everywhere."

"Never thought of that."

"Your steaks come from somewhere."

"Yeah. The estate's deep freeze."

She giggled and stepped back from him, "Go on then, show us how to cast off."

* * *

The girls laid in the sun in the lazy afternoon, counting butterflies and imaging fairies living in the woods, as girls are want to do. Elsie read Peter Pan aloud whilst Beryl laid on her belly listening and making daisy chains.

Charles fished. Pretending the girls weren't there but as tuned in to their activities as they were to his.

"We're like the lost boys," Beryl proclaimed when then trudged home in the early evening, brown from the sun and reeking of summer.

"Lost girls…" Elsie replied, as they swung the picnic basket between them.

"And boy." Charles said from behind.

"You'll be a teenager soon," Beryl said over her shoulder as she blobbed her tongue out at him.

"Yeah," he replied, "then everything changes –,"

"Two lost girls and a teenager." Elsie observed.

" –No more hanging out with little girls."

* * *

 **The Present**

"The fish is a bit dry," Mary said, pushing her plate away and reaching for her glass of wine.

"You've hardly eaten," Charles said, torn between concern and annoyance, "You're too thin."

"Dad…" she moaned.

"Not allowed to say those things now father," Tom smiled. "It's not pc."

"When have I ever been pc?" He sipped his wine and watched as Tom carefully refilled all their glasses.

"Odd this isn't it," Mary said. "Wednesday night dinner without mother."

"If she were here I would have asked her," Charles said. "She would've said no, but I would have offered."

"Is she still in Spain?" Tom asked.

"Portugal when I spoke to her yesterday."

"That young guy still –," Tom started, then stopped himself as he took a guarded look at his father.

"It's alright, your mother is free to see who she wants now. Not that marriage ever stopped her."

"Dad," Mary said, voice low.

"My apologies – don't want to drag either of you into it."

"Does it have to be so awful," Mary said, "we don't want you to leave."

"Who said I'm leaving?"

"We know what it's like, how it works."

"What she means," Tom interrupted, "is that we know it might be awkward here what with mother's brother being the Earl and all." He laughed, "Feel like we should be going on some sort of chat show with that set up."

Charles smiled, "You two were born into this family, you are safe, inheritance, roles – you have good positions here. And once you've got your degree Mary the pair of you could easily run this place. I'm sure you've got far more modern and grand ideas than I've ever had."

"We won't see them throw you aside Dad," Tom said, "not after all you've done. You dragged this place into the modern age, you made it relevant."

"There's been no talk of it," Charles said calmly. "Your mother and I have had a distant relationship for years now, you know that, since you were at least fourteen Mary. She had her life in London, I had mine here, it never interfered with how I did my job and Robert and I have a good relationship, a strong one, he would never put me out to pasture unless I asked for it."

"And what if mother asks for it?" Mary said. "Honestly father, I get my stubborn streak from you but my selfishness is all mother. What if she wants you out as some sort of revenge for you divorcing her?"

"Well, I do not believe she would ever be that vindictive." He put down his cutlery and pushed his plate away, suddenly not so sure of his own words. "And you are not selfish." He said gently. "Forget this nonsense, my business, what about you two? What's happening in your worlds?"

"I'm going back to London tomorrow," Mary said, "I have the 10:40 train. And then I must knuckle down, it's getting close to exam season."

"Oh, does that mean no evenings in glam hot spots?" Tom teased, "Wooing and dropping eligible bachelors."

"Bugger off Tom, you're no better, I just go for a higher class of clientele."

Tom laughed before adopting a broad Yorkshire accent, "Ay, these er lasses up 'ere just want a quick fumble behind the hay stack."

The two of them laughed but Charles was shaking his head embarrassed, "Honestly, that's no kind of talk for the dinner table."

"Sorry dad," Tom said. "I'm working, as you know, and you'll be pleased to hear the workmen finally got into the Bateman cottages. All three should be overhauled by the summer."

"That quick? Good. About time they had an upgrade. When I was a lad they didn't even have running water."

"Here we go," Mary rolled her eyes, "And we live in luxury, we know."

"Yes, you do," he asserted, but smiled at his daughter. "And it'll be good for them to have modern kitchens and what have you, all the mod cons, makes them easier to sell if we ever have to."

"You think we ever would?" Tom asked; it had taken him a few years but he had finally gained the same affection for the estate as his father, and was just as passionate about keeping things healthily ticking along. It took him by surprise, truth be told, he had always railed against it all, the ruling class, the elite this entire establishment was built on. But when he'd hit twenty-one and calmed down somewhat he'd come home, after years of travelling, injured from a motorbike accident in Belgium. And his father had been there, as unchanging and sturdy as ever. He'd lived in the apartment with him, he'd followed his father's work carefully for the first time and found interest, and more than that, care – he actually cared what happened to this grand old house that had been his home.

"Not now," Charles sighed, "we're making a healthy profit, but you never know what might happen, we still have requests for land from developers."

"Those acres up near Fishers River," Mary said, "they could go Dad, they're miles away and homes up there wouldn't encroach on anything we have here."

"No. It doesn't matter how much they offer, I just don't want to lose that patch of land to houses, seems wrong somehow." He smiled to himself, recalling his childhood summers up there. Elsie being back had somehow brought those memories flooding into existence again.

"Drink up," he said, "we've got trifle for dessert fresh from your Aunt Bezza."

"Bezza!" Mary laughed.

"Ha, that came out of nowhere, I haven't used that since we were children. You know, we were so close once. Funny how things go. We've started walking together again, once a week, just for an hour or so in the evening. Gives us time to talk."

"You used to do that as kids?" Tom asked.

"All the time. We walked everywhere, the three of us, and we knew each other inside out. Marriage, children, jobs, they bring a degree of separation… even when you live and work on the same estate." He looked up at his children, "She's a good woman your aunty Beryl, don't ever be put off by her plain way of speaking of the fact she works in the kitchen. She could have done anything. And she's the most warm-hearted woman you're ever likely to meet. Always a regret of mine that the two of you never… well, that you knew your mother's side of the family more."

"We do love her though Dad," Tom said gently, "we always looked forward to our Sundays with her."

"Best roast chicken we've ever had," Mary smiled, briefly touching her father's hand. She wondered at her father's listlessness, at his wandering mind and reflective tone, but then maybe divorce was the momentum for introspection.

* * *

 **The Past**

In the early 1980s a restaurant was added to the house. Half of the stable blocks were converted, a stainless-steel kitchen built in the back section, a serving station and the rest left for seating. It proved so popular the seating was extended outdoors during the summer months and the right-hand-side of the stable blocks was duly turned into an estate shop.

In late June, Elsie made the most of the later opening, the fair evenings and the tables in the courtyard. She would cycle from the farm to the house, abandon her bike behind the old gardener's hut and saunter down through the servants' walkways to the wide, open courtyard. By 1987 her mother was working part time in the restaurant on the serving hatch to make a bit of extra money and she got free cake and lemonade to take with her as she did her homework. She was fourteen but she'd quickly realised that in order to get your own way you only need bat your eyelashes and smile in a certain way. Cake and ice-cream were given freely.

With her books under her arm and a tray balanced on the other she headed outside, squinting at the late afternoon sun positioned in her eye line. She always took the table towards the back of the fountain, which offered a tiny amount of privacy, and lowered her tray to the table.

She glanced up at the sound of a woman loudly placing an order; after growing up there she was used to rich people with rude manners but it amused her to watch the young man nodding along trying to deal with the abrupt tone. Elsie sank down into her chair, spreading her books over the table whilst simultaneously listening to the one-way exchange. The lad must've been new, she didn't recognise him from the back, but then the sun was blinding her view.

She liked the look of him, truth be told, he was tall and had wide shoulders. It was odd now, how she'd started to notice boys in a different way. Things were changing, she had breasts for a start, and had been bleeding for two years. Yet even when her periods started she didn't feel like a woman, she just felt like something alien was happening to her, or happening to somebody else, and she was nothing but a bystander observing it all. These days she got a funny feeling in her stomach when she thought about boys, when she considered the possibility that one day she might be kissed. She wanted to be pretty, attractive, and yet her teeth were still goofy and she was stuck with her brace until at least fifteen.

Sighing she sipped her lemonade and turned her attention to maths. If she did that homework first it would boost her confidence; maths was one of her strongest subjects and she usually breezed through the tasks.

"Eyup squirt," someone whispered by her ear and she jerked her chin up.

"Charlie," she gasped, then took in his attire, registering him as the new lad. "You're working here?"

"Started last weekend. Getting in as many hours as I can whilst I'm home from Uni, need the money."

"Bez never said."

"She's too busy with her boyfriend, you've not gone one yet, have you?"

"No," she felt herself blush, and couldn't understand why – it was Charles, they'd teased each other for years.

"So, a group of us are going to come back tonight, it's meant to be a warm one, we're gonna get in the fountain once it turns dark."

Her eyes widened, "Break in?"

"Shh, we won't break in, just couple of fences to get through. You coming?"

"I don't know… is Beryl?"

"Yeah, and George too. If you're in, meet us back at the house, tell your mum you're staying over or something, 7:00."

She blinked up at him, staring at the twinkle of sunshine in his deep grey eyes; how had she never noticed his eyes before? Something in her chest pulled tight.

"Yeah?" He prompted, clearing away her tray.

She chewed her lip, glanced around the courtyard, her pencil felt oddly strange in her fingertips. "Yes," she said.

* * *

 **The Present**

There was something oddly familiar yet unnervingly different about being back in the courtyard. She could still remember the taste of homemade lemonade, the sunlit afternoons, the way her chest felt when Charles had placed his hand on her shoulder.

She breathed deeply, turning around to take in the view, her handbag still on her shoulder. The house to her right, grand and imposing, its roof alone sprawled over 1.3 acres and she could still remember the day her father got them on a behind-the-scenes tour and they'd climbed the long stone staircase up to the roof and she'd skipped over it like a ballroom floor, Beryl dancing after her.

"Mum," Ethel said, "are you gonna sit down, you look weird?"

She glanced down to where her daughter sat, pouring Cola from a bottle and into a glass. "I grew up here."

"I know. You said."

Elsie drew back the chair, "It's not easily brushed aside. It's odd, you know, being back here."

"Yeah, I suppose. It's kinda nice, I guess."

"Well, it looks different now. A little. Some modern touches, Beryl says they have over 500, 000 visitors a year, can you believe that? When I was little it was a handful, none of this vast parking or trinkets to buy with the image of the house on the front. Fields, that's what I remember, we always had space to play."

"Will you show me where Grandpa's farm was?"

"Sure, we can drive up there later. I think it still exists, I think it's still farmed actually."

Ethel scanned through the booklet in her hand, "I liked the statues."

"Hmm, they were one of the modern additions."

"And the bookcases, there must be a million books in there, maybe more." She closed the brochure, "I'd love to look through them, borrow some. You think Beryl could get some?"

Elsie laughed, rubbing her daughter's hand, sometimes she was so very young. "How's school going?"

"You know, it's school, not really that different from the last one apart from they have different accents and call you 'love' a lot."

"Well then, nothing to worry about, my wee lass."

Ethel rolled her eyes, then laughed before she took a drink. "How old were you when you left?"

"Seventeen."

"Wow."

Elsie nodded, "Told you I lived my life here, I knew nothing else. In fact at your age I used to sit here doing my homework. It was odd," she sipped her tea, "when we went back to Scotland. So bloody cold for a start!" She smiled, "And then of course I was starting university and life was very different."

"Would you have gone to Argyll college, if you hadn't moved?"

"Probably not, I might have been more adventurous, ventured to more illustrious places. Who knows. But Grandma wasn't well and Aunt Becky needed me…"

"Will we go see Aunt Becky again?"

"We will sweetheart, of course. Once we know what's happening here."

He was making his daily rounds when he spotted her. It made him stop, a flashback to a memory he didn't realise he had. A young pretty girl doing her homework in the sun. He remembered her laugh, how quick she was to solve puzzles, how organised. They had that in common.

For a second he contemplated whether he would be imposing, whether he should leave her alone with her daughter. But something beyond manners compelled him to go forward and he adopted his friendly managerial face to mask his nerves as he got close.

"Elsie," he said, "Beryl mentioned you might come for the day." He held out his hand and she shook it, getting to her feet.

"Hello Charlie… Charles. The house is beautiful, we really enjoyed it."

"Your daughter," he indicated the young woman. She had a little of Elsie in her, though her hair was much redder, it reminded him more of Becky, or Mrs Hughes. He couldn't help but wonder as to who her father was as he held out his hand.

Ethel shook it as Elsie spoke, "This is Etty, Ethel but she hates that."

"Your grandmother's name," he stated, knowingly.

"Yeah. You knew her?" Ethel said.

"Etty, Mr Carson is Beryl's brother. We grew up together."

 _We existed together_ , he thought. "Your grandmother was the best baker I ever came across," Charles said kindly. "I still remember her oatcakes. That's one of the reasons I insist we still serve them."

"Mr Carson is the estate manager," Elsie pointed out.

"You can call me Charles," he interrupted. "How are you anyway, settling in?"

Ethel nodded and Elsie shrugged, "Yes, just a little different, being back here."

"But you will stay?"

"Perhaps. Not managed to find a job yet."

"Oh," he fiddled with the cuff of his jacket, "you know there are jobs here."

"Beryl mentioned it, yes."

"Household textiles expert," he said, "could be perfect for you, with your background. Ran a shop, didn't you?"

Elsie nodded, "I don't want to, well, for you to feel you have to offer because we were childhood friends. I don't want it to be awkward."

He smiled, "I don't feel awkward." He reflected on that phrase, 'childhood friends', it seemed too simple a thing to really sum up what they were. "But I understand if you do, of course. But if you are interested take an application before you leave today."

"Are they online?" Ethel asked, "We could read it when we get home then?"

"My secretary assures me they are, yes." He shook Elsie's hand again, pressing it into his warm palm. "Really good to see you again, you should come walking with Beryl and I, we recently started again."

He let go of her hand and she felt a blush rush to her chest. "Goodness, how wonderful. We used to go everywhere by foot didn't we. Criss-crossed across the estate."

He smiled, "The scenery never gets dull." He nodded to the young girl, "Especially nice to meet you, Etty."

"And you Mr Carson."

Elsie watched him walk away, absently stirring more sugar into her tea until Ethel thrust her phone under her mother's nose.

"Here, see, there's the job. You should apply."

"I don't even know what it is or how much it pays. It might be peanuts."

"Well it can't be any worse than what the state gives us."

Elsie felt her chest tighten; she hated the fact she was currently having to rely on handouts. Ethel was right, she should take a look at the job at least, maybe ask Beryl's opinion on it.

"Drink up," she said, "let's take a drive into the past and head up to the farm. Then we could maybe drive to the stables and see if we can't get you a weekend job up there."

Ethel grinned, pulling her long red hair back into a high ponytail, "Excellent mum!"

* * *

 **The Past**

There was a strange sort of thrill in the air, something that came partly from being out when the sun had set and you weren't where you'd said you'd be.

Elsie clung to the back of the group, Beryl had given her a torch and she kept it trained on the floor, watching where she was walking. Just ahead of her William and Beryl swung hands, giggling and chatting; they'd been dating three weeks and it seemed eternal. Ahead of them Charles and maybe eight or nine of his friends. Elsie knew them all, kids from around the estate and nearby village, all local, all boisterous that summer night. None of their siblings had been invited or tagged along – that thought made her feel a little bit special.

Getting to the fountain was far easier than she would have expected, in fact she bothered herself with questions over security as she followed the group through the gardens and up to the top of the fountain. She'd worn shorts, so it was easy to slip off her canvas trainers and dangle her feet into the water. Someone had bought snack food, someone else beer, and as she watched them drinking and fooling about she wished she'd stayed home. She wasn't the adventurous type, not really, not when it came to things like this. She didn't like to break rules, afraid of what her mother might say, and she respected the Earl, she thought Charles did too.

Perhaps she was being too childish. She was fourteen now, childish games were quickly disappearing.

Beryl was splashing in the water, she called Elsie's name and beckoned her over and, with a hint of reluctance, Elsie did so. She perched on the edge, slipping her feet into the cold water and watching how it distorted her toes when she looked down at them. She could feel the light spray of water flicking over her body and she closed her eyes momentarily, enjoying the sensation.

When she looked up again it was because Beryl was laughing and Will was swinging her around. Beryl had just turned fifteen and, to Elsie, seemed to be growing up so quickly. Somehow she seemed more mature, more of everything – braver and brighter and so very at ease with life. So comfortable with it all. Elsie often felt small, unsure of herself.

She knew she had to work hard, she knew things wouldn't just come to her. Her parents weren't rich, and they had their own concerns; they hardly spoke of her younger sister, not to anybody, she'd been taught to keep much about that situation to herself. Elsie wanted to do well at school. She wanted to go to college and guarantee herself a career, something to hold onto come the day when she had to stand on her own two feet. She may have been young but she understood her place in the great scheme of things and it was very much working class.

A great dollop of water hit in her the chest and she gasped as two of the boys fell into the fountain before her. She jumped up, clambering backwards out of the stone structure and then yelping when the gravel dug into the soft pads of her feet. She dashed to the comfort of the grass, in the semi-darkness here, watching the others enjoying themselves under the light of the fountain.

Sitting back, she dried her feet on the grass and slipped on her shoes again. As she looked up she noticed Charlie sitting on the stone wall not far from her, she raised her hand and was about to get up and go sit with him when she saw Alice going over. She hardly knew Alice, just that she had gone to their school but was really rather snooty; her father ran a business and she was the type of girl who wore those pleated skirts that were always pristine, and perfectly plaited hair, whereas Elsie did her best to keep hers in a ponytail or bun by the end of the day without it frizzing up around her face.

Charlie had a funny look on his face, a look she hadn't seen before and she wasn't sure of. But that look was trained on Alice and one thing she did know was that it was nothing negative. She felt in a sort of trance as she saw him lift his hand and place it on the low of Alice's back, how the tall slender blonde leant forward and down and smiled just before her lips met his.

She had never seen real people kiss like that before. On television, in films, yes, but never real people who she knew in such close quarters. And this was Charlie. He was only a kid like her.

Only he wasn't. He was all grown up.

Her eyes flicked upwards as a light flashed across the grounds and she followed its progress, mesmerised, it took her a few seconds too long to realise it was the security light and the rest of the group were dashing barefoot across the lawn towards the tress.

"Els… come on," Charles tugged her arm almost from the socket as he pulled her up from the floor. "Run, bloody hell, run!"

* * *

 **The Present**

It occurred to her, as she fiddled with her stockings for the fifth time since arriving, that it had been many _many_ years since she'd actually had a formal interview. That thought in itself would perhaps make her a little nervous but coupled with the fact this was her old home, that this was Charles Carson and she'd known him since he was a lad, as tall and skinny as a rake.

And she really needed this job. She wasn't sure she wanted it, but she needed it and maybe that was more important than wanting it.

"I must say, your cv presents you as being overqualified for this role," he said, his deep voice almost hushed in the privacy of his office. He was leaning forward, chin down, and she could watch the slight movement of his reading glasses on his nose as he turned through her paperwork. The old features were still there, that nose they used to mock him for as cruel children, the eyebrows that suddenly appeared when he reached puberty. But he was broader now, he'd filled out is what her Da would have said.

Broad shoulders, she kept resting her eyes on them, the fit of his jacket, the crispness of his shirt. And the office that was so very him, dusty and precise. Old leather chairs, one a deep inky blue that creased like he'd sat there a thousand times at night reading, maybe even dozing. And piles of books on the bookcase behind him, stacked alphabetically she soon realised, and made up of antiques and gardening and fishing – that made her smile, she recalled often seeing him cycling off to the river with his rod.

"So, Miss Hughes," he said looking up again and she felt a strange awkwardness between them that made her feel the slightest twinge of sadness. "I suppose the question is why do you want it?"

"The job?"

"Yes."

"Well," she sucked on her tongue, she could lie, deliver spiel about the prestige of working there. "I need it." She admitted. "I am a single mother with a fourteen-year-old daughter. I've returned here, no family around, nobody to really fall back on and I wanted a new start."

He nodded, he appreciated her honesty, her directness. "You were running your own business," he stated softly, "can I ask what happened?" He was as much interested from a personal viewpoint as a professional one.

She hesitated momentarily, "It was… personal. An illness and I had to take a break. So, unfortunately, as much as I loved running and working in my little shop…well, I had to accept I couldn't do it all."

"I am sorry to hear that," he removed his glasses and looked directly at her. Perhaps there was more he could say, but he had never been particularly good at small talk – something had happened between growing up and becoming a man and he'd somehow missed a crucial element of how to relax with people. "But I'm pleased for us. You will be outstanding, I know. And it's a very small department area, you only have Mrs Roberts above you and I think you'll work well together."

"Does this mean, sorry but does this mean I have the job?"

"Of course you do, Elsie, I'm really looking forward to having you here. Working with us," he quickly added.

She suddenly felt very emotional. "Thank you. So much, really."

"You were always smart Elsie, focussed, a hard worker. I remember you worked in the coffee shop here when you fifteen."

"Seems a lifetime ago."

"More than one." He paused, taking in her appearance. "You'll be able to get here okay?"

"Yes, I will, I'll make it work."

"And Ethel, that's your daughter?"

"Yes."

"She's settling in?"

"Seems to be, she likes riding, crazy for horses so the country suits her for that and we're not far from town I suppose."

"You can always run her to Leeds on weekend if she needs more culture. Or York."

She wasn't sure if she sensed his voice change slightly when he said that, or if she'd imagined it. York was his university city, where he'd gone from teenager to man and all the silly little mistakes that go along with that.

For a second or two they stared at each other, and she wasn't sure if it was painful or simply a realisation that there was a past there, or had been, and it had died long ago. In his face the young man was still there, but his demeanour, his actions, even the way he breathed in and out had changed. When they were young she might have described him as fun, certainly he made her laugh, and the three of them together had adventures. But the man in front of her was stoic and she searched his eyes for who he used to be.

On Charles' part, he was surprised by just how beautiful she still was. When he'd last seen her, over twenty years ago, she had been stunning. Slim and confident, those dazzling eyes, a bright quick mind. The eyes were a little duller, the hair a different colour, the youthful blush gone. But she was still beautiful, it went deeper than mere looks.

"So," he finally said, "how about starting next Monday?"


	3. Chapter 3

**The Past**

Elsie lay on Beryl's bed staring at the poster of Rick Astley on the wall. She had never really looked at boys before, not closely, but she was trying now. She had turned fifteen only the day before, and she realised the carefree days of childhood were quickly passing – all around her everyone was growing up.

Her role as a schoolgirl was going to be over soon, she would soon be pressed to start making decisions about her future, and her parents had little idea about anything beyond farming. Yet everything she saw in her future existed outside of the farming world.

She stared at the poster. His face, his eyes, his hair; she searched for attraction, all the girls at school seemed to like him, Beryl played his music non-stop and talked about kissing his poster every night before bed. It seemed faintly ridiculous to Elsie, after all a poster wasn't real, it was all make believe, and she was still with Bill which meant she had someone of flesh and blood to kiss.

They spoke about kissing sometimes, Beryl tried to explain what it felt like and went through a call sheet of names – boys Elsie could possibly date. But try as she might she couldn't muster interest. Beryl was almost sixteen now, she had been dating Bill for nine months and Elsie knew that they were considering going further. At school, girls talked about sex quite openly now; after P.E. on a Friday afternoon they would discuss who had 'done it' as they showered and Elsie found herself becoming increasingly side lined. She was one of the youngest in the year and she was well aware of how the others were moving away from her.

"Hey squirt," Charlie said as he bounded into the room and swung open Beryl's wardrobe door. "My annoying sister has stolen my leather jacket again. She'll look like a bloody idiot in it, she's such a short arse."

Elsie turned on the bed slightly, suddenly aware of how dress had risen up her legs as she'd laid there waiting for Beryl to get ready. She pushed it back into place, lifting herself up on the pillows a little. Charles was on his knees rummaging through Beryl's piles of clothes and Elsie watched him from behind – he was wearing a pale blue shirt and it pulled across his shoulder blades as he moved. It was tight on his upper arms, and stretched when he rose and searched the top shelf.

"She'll have lost it, the little shit," he said.

"How long you home for?" Elsie asked in a weak voice.

"Just the weekend, wanted to see Alice and there's a party tonight."

"You and her are…" she said and he finally turned round to look at her. His hair had grown longer and he pushed it back from where it flopped over his forehead.

"We're nothing at the moment," he said, "she had another one of her strops over everything. I can't help having work to do."

"What's it like? Being at uni, I mean."

"Really good, freedom from home and it gives you a new perspective. You decided what you want to do yet?"

She shook her head, wondering just why Alice mattered so much to him.

"Well you got time, we could talk about it tomorrow?"

"I'm at work at the house."

"Oh yeah, mum said you got a part time thing there – you get a lunch break?"

"It's Sunday, I finish at 4:00. We could meet after."

"Yeah, fine, I'll hang around in the courtyard."

* * *

 **The Present**

In their old home Ethel would have set the table, they only had a flat above her mother's shop but it was spacious – two large bedrooms, one with an en-suite; a kitchen with a decent dining space; the lounge; a bathroom. Here they were considerably cramped. The majority of her belongings still remained in boxes in her bedroom, though it was more like a box room. The kitchen was so small her mother could just about prepare their meals in there and in the lounge they only had a coffee table to eat on.

So, she set that instead and they sat on cushions on the floor to sit and eat. The news was on in the background and Ethel was half listening to that as she put out water glasses and a bread basket.

Elsie carried in two plates of pasta, cooking had never been a particular strength but she could muster up the basics to keep her daughter healthy.

"At my age eating on the floor is not fun," Elsie said joining her daughter.

"You're not that old mum."

"Not _that_ old," she smiled, watching as Ethel pulled her long red hair up and looped it with a band. She had a sharp chin, elegant, and such a beautifully shaped mouth. She reached for a piece of bread, breaking it open over the pasta dish. "So, any news, anything happening at school?"

"Not really, it's nice enough."

"You made some friends?"

"Few girls, there's a nice one called Laura, I get on with her."

"That's good. You should invite them over?"

Ethel screwed up her nose, "Not being a snob mum but I'd rather not."

Elsie glanced round, "Yes, perhaps not. I can drop you in town, if you want to meet them at the weekend."

"Maybe. I want to go to the stables, if that's okay, Andy says if I'm good enough mucking out there might be a weekend job for me."

"Oh, who's Andy?"

"You met him, he works at the stables, well in the farm side with Bill – that's your friend's husband, isn't it?"

"Is it, you have a better memory than I do." She took a sip of water, "This Andy was a nice looking man."

"God mum…"

"I'm just saying."

"He's like a million years older than me."

"Well, being older is sometimes an attraction."

"I don't fancy him mum, I'm interested in the horses, I want to get back into competition."

"I know, I know. And you will, soon enough." She reached over and squeezed her daughter's arm, "Sorry."

"It's alright."

"I just worry you know."

"It's alright mum."

"Etty, I know what it is to be fourteen, and I wasn't as beautiful as you."

Ethel smiled sheepishly, leaning back against the sofa.

"You start having crushes, and you want to strike out from your parents. Be your own person. And you know I'd never stop that, it's part of growing up, just keep me in the loop. Yes?"

"Course mum. But you don't have to worry, I don't fancy anyone."

Elsie wondered how long that would remain the truth. Once upon a time she and Beryl were more excited about getting roller boots than boys but at fifteen Beryl had already moved on to the man she would later marry.

* * *

Later, she lay in the dark, wide awake, listening to the wind battering some street sign – it repetitively squeaked and she closed her eyes imagining its movement. Cars still went past at speed and there was the odd rumble of chatter. That was the curse of living in town, it was never silent.

She wondered if this was where she was meant to be. She had so questioned the move, dragging Ethel away from what she knew. They had already moved once, back up to Scotland when she was ill, and making such another huge change so quickly on the back of that could be perceived as cruel. But she knew she needed something new, to free herself of the heaviness of what her Scottish home brought. And alone, a single mother without work, she had used much of what was left of their savings to start afresh.

Maybe she couldn't know if it was the right decision until time had passed. But right now, she felt very little. Still and stoic. She found a home, enrolled her daughter in school, did all the things she was meant to do. Now the job; was it because it was what she wanted to do or simply because of necessity?

Her eyes jerked open when she heard the bedroom door move, and then she saw the shadow of her daughter's slight and nimble figure crossing the room and hopping into bed beside her.

"Can't sleep?"

Ethel shook her head and Elsie lifted her arm as she curled up against her.

"Felt kinda cold."

"Not too old to sleep with mummy," she said softly kissing her daughter's head.

Ethel stared ahead, noting the clothes hanging from the wardrobe. "This your uniform?"

"Kind of. I wasn't sure what exactly I would need to wear so I kept it simple."

"You'll look smart. You nervous?"

"Very."

Ethel smiled, "Why? You know the place and the guy who runs it, the one who gave you the job, I think he kinda fancies you."

"Oh he does not. He's just being nice, we have a past and that's all. Because of Beryl."

"You're not bad looking mum."

"Such praise," she laughed. "But I'm not interested in anything."

Ethel turned slightly to look up at her mother's face, "You're not worried, are you? I mean, you healed, you are well?"

"I'm perfectly well sweetheart, still clear." The fear in her daughter's young eyes upset her, she never wanted her to worry about being alone. About death. There was her father of course and if anything did happen she would go live with him but that wasn't the point. They were a team, always had been, and the possibility of either of them facing the world alone seemed unfeasible. But she was still healing, not medically perhaps, but something deeper inside – things she didn't discuss, things she buried beneath a muffled sob because it was easier to deal with the day-to-day tasks.

"I think it's nice here," Ethel said, resting her head back down on her mother's side again. "I think we might be alright here."

Perhaps they would. Maybe Downton was the place for her to heal. The place for her to remember what it was to be happy.

"You'll be good at the job," Ethel whispered. "I bet you could run it."

Elsie smiled, tickling her fingers up and down her daughter's back as she did when she was young. "I'm a bit too old to have ambitions like that. I used to, when I was young, and I ended up running my shop into the ground."

"It was hardly your fault…" Ethel said then yawned.

"Go to sleep sweetheart," Elsie said, squeezing her. "Night, night, my Etty."

"Night mummy."

For a moment she remembered being fourteen and the constant rush of emotions, the endless questions about life and the world and your place in it all. And she remembered Charles; she remembered being fifteen and her abruptly realising she had a crush on her best friend's brother – Charles Carson.

* * *

 **The Past**

She still wore her apron that Sunday afternoon and her straw boater, her long hair was pinned neatly at the nape of her neck in a tight bun and she rushed across the cobbled stones holding her hat in place against the breeze.

"Sorry," she said, "I had to clean the sinks."

"It's alright, I managed to get us some of the biscuits left over from the coffee shop." She eyed the plate on the table and the two mugs of tea. "Charlotte helped me out."

Elsie wondered if Charlotte fancied him too, he was dark and tall and he certainly seemed more confident since going to University.

"So, how's school going?"

"You know, it's alright. A year ago I was desperate to leave, now I kinda just want to stay forever."

"I get that. Scary stuff the real world. But it's good you know, uni, because you can kinda put off thinking about the real world for a few years."

"You're doing business Bez said."

"Yeah." He munched on his second ginger biscuit.

"What will you do with it?"

"Not sure yet, wouldn't half mind working here, truth be told."

Her eyes widened, "Really?"

"Sort of see the appeal of it when you're away. Not here though," he gestured around the courtyard, where the restaurant, coffee shop, gift shop and kitchens were all housed in old stables. "I want to do something like be a manager, be in charge of all this stuff."

"Like Mr. Beet?"

"Yeah. Only better. He's such an old git, they want someone young and new to freshen it up."

Elsie giggled, "He'd kill you if he knew you called him that."

"He'd make me count the bricks in the wall, remember when we got nabbed for nicking that fresh chicken from the kitchen and your mother made us do that?"

She nodded, her cheeks pinking up at the memory. He laughed, and she watched as his shoulders shook, and his hair fell across his forehead – he absently brushed it back and a feeling went down her chest akin to jumping into cold water or encountering a strong wind when racing downhill on your bike. She felt odd. Like her nipples had suddenly woken and become alert.

She coughed, hunched forward to drink her tea, grateful for the first time in her life for the thick cumbersome apron that hid her body.

"Great name though," Charles said, "Alfred Beet. Sternest old sod I've ever met, worse than any professor."

She stared at him wide-eyed; he had a way of talking now, he was casual, language spilled from him that she'd never heard him use before. New words. More swear words. He seemed so intelligent, and so grown up, not the child-like boy she had played with for so long.

"You want to take three subjects you'll enjoy at A-level," he said. "And don't do all academic ones, like essay subjects, balance it a bit. If you've got an idea on university courses it might help because sometimes they want you to have done stuff, others don't give a shit. Here," he dropped a small but thick book onto the table. "This has a list of all the universities and courses this year and what they want you to have got grade wise. It's dull to read but useful. It might help."

She pressed her hand on it, the curled top corner where she imagined he'd flicked it back and forth with his thumb. "Thanks."

"You going on holiday this summer?"

She shook her head, "Maybe Scotland for a bit, see our family, I might have to go on my own though, mum and dad have to work."

"Remember when you still called them ma and da?" he smiled.

"You made fun of me."

"Easy to do, squirt."

She rolled her eyes, straightening her shoulders, "I'm getting taller you know. Just cos I'm not a 7-foot giant like you."

"True, you're not quite the midget my sister is. She around?"

"She worked in the bakery today, started early but went home at lunch."

"Bet she's out with that Bill, always together. They erm, you know…" he stared at Elsie. "Never mind." His eyes flicked upwards as someone crossed the courtyard, his attention drawn by the noise but held when he saw who it was.

Elsie looked over her shoulder at the tall slim figure of the Earl's daughter – Rosamund. She was about eighteen, a year younger than Charles, and usually she spent her time abroad. Raised mostly at boarding school and then at a college in Switzerland it was rare to see her 'home'. She had the kind of elegance Elsie could only dream of; her red hair swept up as if it was the simplest thing to do, her riding outfit oozed expense and she slapped the whip against the top of her boot as she walked. She was two years older than her brother and they hardly saw him either, he was usually back at Christmas and in the summer but that was it. They hardly knew the estate at all.

"You think it's odd for her?" Charles said.

"What?"

"Going to school somewhere else, not living with your parents?"

"I guess for these posh folk it's normal," she replied and he turned to her, eyebrows raised, surprised she had an opinion.

"Tell you what must be weird for her," he said in response. "Not getting to be top dog when her Dad dies. Goes to her younger brother."

"Because she's a girl?"

"Yeah."

"Seems unfair."

"It's the way things have always been done, who are we to question."

Elsie noticed he was staring at her again, watching as she chatted to one of the groomsmen before going inside.

"She's pretty," Elsie said.

"Yeah. Ain't she though."

She pouted, reaching for the last biscuit, "Wish I was."

He looked at her, dead in the eye, and smiled.

* * *

 **The Present**

"Nowt to be embarrassed about," Beryl said as she puffed her way up the hill. She marched ahead of Charles, she had thought ahead and worn wellington boots, and the grass was wet, which meant his trousers were now too.

It took him only a few strides to catch her up at the top of the hill and he sat beside her on the bench which perched overlooking the farm land.

"Bill's worried about all this rain," she said, "Says the ground's sodden."

"He worried it'll mean a bad crop?"

"Guess so," she sighed. "So then, spill."

"I just said I don't want to talk about it."

"And I said it's nowt to be embarrassed about. God knows how you stuck all these years with her."

"It wasn't all bad."

"No," she said softly, she knew when to sit back and wait for him to open up. Her brother had never been particularly forthcoming with information but give him time a slight chink in the armour would appear.

"I mean look at everything we achieved. Tom and Mary for a start. I wouldn't change that, them. Nor all this, getting to live here, to raise my children here."

"And your third child, the estate," she said.

"Ah, but you see Rosamund said the estate was my wife, not her."

"Oh, I see," she nodded. "Can I be honest?"

"When are you ever not?"

"You weren't right for her."

"Bez…"

"No listen, it was wrong from the start. You always seeking her approval, her wanting to hurt her Daddy by marrying below stairs."

Charles' shoulders fell forward, "That makes it sound too simple."

"Yeah, but it's at the crux of it. And after the kids were born she was never here, always travelling or in London."

Charles breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp air, it was not quite evening yet but close enough and the clouds in the distance had taken on that peachy allure of the setting sun. "You know what's awful…"

"Go on."

"I didn't really care, when she wasn't here. It made things easier somehow, I didn't have to try. Is that terrible?"

"Only terrible in the fact that it's how things were for you." She reached to touch his arm, a move she rarely did. "It makes me sad for you, that you've never known what it is to be really loved."

He wouldn't argue with that – she was right, Rosamund had never really loved him, and perhaps he hadn't really loved her neither. Not like his parents had loved. Nor like he saw with Beryl and Bill, a partnership based on trust and respect and friendship.

"I'm sad for Elsie too," she suddenly said. "Remember when we'd race up here as kids, it never occurred to me that you two wouldn't be the same as me, finding someone to marry and just being happy forever. I never wanted more than here, see, you two always did. But I'm more than content to just potter on alongside nature and live out my life doing my bit."

"And I think that's wonderful." He frowned, desperate to ask questions without appearing nosey. "Why sad for Elsie though?"

"Well, I mean she's not getting divorced but it's hardly been great. That guy leaving when she found out she was knocked up; finally getting her business going then breast cancer."

He winced, his heart picking up with the wind.

"She's not had it easy. And it makes me sad because she's a good woman and she was always so smart and serious at school."

"I know she always wanted to do well."

"Like you she always wanted more than just this place, funny how we've all ended up back here. How's she doing anyway, at work?"

He shrugged, "Fine I believe."

"You not checked up on her?"

"No more than I normally would."

"Charles!"

"What? I don't want to appear to be giving favouritism, I gave her that job without seeing anyone else because you asked."

"Don't tell her that. And she'd our oldest friend, you should have given her the job."

"You used to say she was family."

"She is, as good as." She crossed her arms across her chest, "Missed her being around all these years. The odd catch up in Leeds isn't the same as the day-to-day. I always wondered what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"When she left, that September when she moved to Scotland with her folks, she seemed different somehow, something had changed and she wasn't quite the same with me. We never fell out."

"I guess it can be odd," he said gruffly, "your best friend getting married and you're off to university. You can't ever be the same."

"I suppose not. You want to carry on up and take the long route back through the wood or go back along the path?"

"Let's do the long route, it's a clear night." He slapped his legs and got to his feet, "I'll try to check on her tomorrow."

"Good," she smiled, marching off.

* * *

 **The Past**

Elsie was laying on her back in the long grass, she had pulled one from the root and was spinning it between her fingers like a baton imagining herself marching with the local band. She hummed to herself, the sun on her face, the sound of the lapping water going by.

She sat up abruptly at the sound of footsteps and was at once angry at the intrusion and a little concerned about being out there on her own. Her mother had warned her not to go too far alone but Beryl was so often busy these days – if not working then out with Bill.

"Oh, it's you," she said, both relieved and anxious to see Charlie.

"That's nice. Came for a fish, didn't know you were here."

"Came on my own," she flopped back into the grass. "Just wanted some peace."

"Well, you'll get no row from me."

She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of insects in the air, the whisper of the leaves above her, the slight tinny sound as Charles set up his equipment.

She started to hum again, one leg looped over the other and swinging in the air, "O when the saints, go marching in…" she sang, "When the saints come marching in."

"Thought you wanted peace," Charles said, and she could tell by the sing-song nature of his voice he was smiling.

She stayed quiet but sat up slowly, watching as he cast off and perched himself on his stool. He was wearing a t-shirt and she could see the tan lines on his arms and the back of his neck, he had muscles now that moved in his arms and across his back, he hadn't had them only a year before. She observed him as one might a painting, committing to memory each line before analysing its overall appearance.

"How's Alice?" She said meanly; she knew they'd been arguing, Beryl had told her.

He huffed, "Girls are difficult."

"Am I?"

"That's different."

"How? I'm a girl."

"Not the same." He shook his head, "Not like her."

She lay down again. "Maybe it's boys that are the idiots."

He glanced back at her, at her knees wobbling side-to-side and the tops of her jean shorts rolled up just above them.

"Someone upset you?"

"No," she shot back, then sat up again, "Parents."

"Oh, why?"

"Just… they don't get things. They think I should finish school next year when I'm sixteen and get a job. Start contributing."

"Oh. Well, if it's any consultation my folks are the same, or were, they didn't understand what use a degree would be."

"I want to do more, you know, get away. Not be stuck on a stupid farm."

"I do know, I'm the same."

She got to her feet and he noticed she had no shoes on.

"I feel a bit trapped here," she wandered to the river, dipping in her toes, "there must be more out there and I want to see it."

"I know, I felt the same. Now I'm away…" he sighed, "I kind of miss it. I miss the quiet. I miss being able to come out here on my own and fish."

"Yeah," she stepped into the water, walking across the stones, turning and balancing, still holding the long blade of grass in her hand. "Sometimes feel like I don't fit in, like nobody here gets me. And nobody really likes me."

He frowned, "How come?"

"The other girls are all dating."

"Oh. Well you don't have to."

"I know that, but nobody asked me neither, none of the boys ever ask me. I can't be that horrid."

"You aren't." He put his fishing rod down and stood up, stretching. "I brought a couple of bottles of Dandelion and Burdock, you want one?"

"Sure," she moved more quickly across the stones, slipping when she put her wet foot onto the edge of the bank. "Woah," she exclaimed, arms waving and he caught hold of her, one hand holding hers, his other coming around her back.

He pressed his broad palm against her and pushed her forwards until she was balanced. It took no more than twenty seconds and then she was sitting in the grass again, sipping the cool drink, and he was beside her doing the same. But she thought of the shape of his hand on her back, how her skin felt tingly now, imagining that he must have felt her bra through her thin vest top.

He sank back the rest of his D&B, "Hot today," he said falling back onto the grass and closing his eyes.

She glanced down at him, at his bronzed face so very much like a man now, not the kid who used to tease her. Then across his chest, down his body, to the belt of his jeans, the bulge there, his long legs. She bit her lip, eyes wide at the tentative strange feeling between her legs.

She got up quickly. "I best go, I argued with mum, I need to apologise."

"Alright. Seeya squirt."

"Seeya Charlie." She said casually.

"Oh and don't worry, some kid will ask you out soon enough."

* * *

 **The Present**

Elsie was still finding her way around the maze of corridors the house boasted, at least twice a day she got lost and when you were usually weighed down with towels or bedding it was no fun.

She rounded a familiar corner and noted a row of chairs, she recalled sitting there when awaiting her interview and held her breath briefly at the memory.

Charles' office door was open, she paused at the corner watching him. His eyes were closed, hands folded together, knuckles white. She wondered for a second if he was asleep, but then she saw the paperwork on his desk, the open laptop, his chest lifting as he breathed in then out.

She lifted her hand, tapping lightly on the door.

To her surprise, he opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head to look at her and then smiling, "Elsie. Hello. What can I do for you?"

"I er," she took a step inside his office, "I brought those documents you wanted, my bank account and all that."

"Ah, yes, thank you." He held his hand out and she passed them across. "Very prompt."

"Well, I want to try and speed things up if I can," she said quickly and then paused. "I need to get Ethel into a routine for school," she said instead.

"There's a bus in the village."

"I know. I remember."

"Course you do." They used to catch it together. "How's your first week going?"

"Good, I keep getting lost though. Oddly."

"I guess we didn't spend much time in the house as kids." He rubbed his forehead, "You'll soon know it inside out."

"Are you okay?" She asked, resting her hands on the back of the chair across the desk from him. "You've got a headache?"

"Every day it seems, look, you fancy a Sherry?"

She hadn't drunk it since she was a girl and her Granny gave it to her at Christmas but, ever polite, she nodded and took a seat.

"Hell of a day," he said, "plans for the summer fair, parking is always a nightmare and highways wants cast iron assurances about how we're going to keep the traffic moving. That's the nightmare of having a main road run through the grounds." He handed her a delicate gold-rimmed glass and she sipped at the liquid, well aware of its quality.

"And here I am worrying about the setting on the iron for the curtains."

He smiled at her tone, "All this," he gestured to the papers on his desk.

"More work?"

"Divorce." He grimaced, "the word sticks. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You never married?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Too smart for it," he said. "Ethel's father…" he noted her expression, "sorry, far too personal. Just feeling introspective I guess, need to get out of my head."

"That's okay, I can understand you feeling emotional. Perfectly normal I'd say."

"Mm," he nodded, staring at her pale blue eyes. "There's the summer ball too," he quickly said, "the organisation for that."

"Oh goodness, that still happens?"

Charles nodded, finishing his sherry and considering pouring another.

"And the cricket too? I remember our Dads playing in that every year."

"The cricket too, I like to keep the traditions alive, as much as I can anyhow."

She put her glass down, "Well, I'll certainly come to the ball if I get an invite."

"Every member of staff," he said warmly. "So, chance for a nice dress?"

"I suppose so, I'll have to dig around in my wardrobe." She placed her empty glass on the desk.

"Nice to buy a new dress though, cheers things up."

"I think I'm too old to think a new dress can solve anything," she said and then she saw that she had been abrupt and his face changed.

"Sorry, I'm keeping you."

"Not at all, it's nice to catch up." She said more gently.

"You should come on the walk, with Beryl and I, like we used to…" he bit his tongue as he watched her. "We're going Thursday this week."

"That sounds really nice, let me know the time and I'll check what Etty is up to."

"Course."

She got up from her chair, "You can text me."

"Oh right, yes, of course." He felt queerly delighted at that idea, like she'd offered him some sort of lifeline. "Could I not just ask you face-to-face."

She smiled, "Yes, of course. Now I really must go, or I'll be late and I have to make dinner."

"Sorry to have kept you –,"

"Not at all. Have a good evening Charles."

"And you."

* * *

 **The Past**

"You take that back Charlie Carson or I'll kick you in the knee!"

" _You take that back_ ," he imitated in a high-pitched girly voice, waddling his head back and forth.

"Stop it!" she shouted, lifting her foot and aiming for him, she caught his shin with the toe of her shoe.

"Watch it," he said, wobbling back onto the sofa "stupid kid."

"Big idiot!" she shouted back.

"Both of you, stop it." Their mother strode into the room, she was small in stature like Beryl but fierce, with fiery red hair and a stern way of talking that shut them both up immediately. "What's going on in here? Your father's sleeping." She put a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and wiped her hands on her apron.

"He started it," Beryl complained, she may have only been nine but she clearly ruled the roost. Her older brother was relatively calm in comparison, in fact Betty Carson had often worried her son was a bit too serious about life, but then he took after his father who had worked relentlessly for his family.

"You're such a baby," Charles said taking a seat at the table.

"I am not!"

"Charlie," Betty said, hushing him. Charles rolled her eyes at his mother and she shook her head at him. "Bez, would you nip upstairs and wake your father. Tell him lunch is ready. And isn't Elsie coming?"

"Stupid upset her."

"I did not," Charles protested.

"Where is she?"

"In my room I think."

"Fetch her too, the chicken needs carving, Charlie you can do that, you're big enough now. Almost a man."

Beryl stomped out of the room and upstairs and Charles huffed as he got to his feet, picking up the carving knife. He had never actually carved before, his father always did it, and he was a little nervous he'd make a mess of it but he would never say so.

"How did you upset Elsie?"

"I didn't mum."

"Then why isn't she down here with the two of you?"

"They were playing some stupid girl game, all that hand clapping and singing rhymes."

His mother was ladling vegetables onto their plates, half listening.

"They're annoying, they'd made some stupid rhyme up about family and they were getting on my nerves, so I said she wasn't family."

Betty sucked in air between her teeth.

"And of course Bezza kicks off, like she does all the time now because she's a brat."

"She's your sister Charlie, and she's young and you're almost a teenager and there's bound to be clashes between you."

Charles sat down again, putting the carving knife down, "I just feel like they get on my nerves all the time now."

"I can understand that, but you're older, you need to be sensible about it. You can understand why Elsie might be upset?"

He stared at his place setting, nodding his head.

"You know she's here every other day, almost every Sunday for dinner. She doesn't have any other family here than her parents and running a farm is time consuming, they don't have set hours like me and your father at the house. Even when your father does late hours like last night. You know, you helped out in the kitchens. Imagine running a farm all on your own."

He nodded again, feeling very small and very foolish under his mother's wise gaze.

"Elsie is like our family Charlie, we've watched her grow up, watched all of you grow up. And I hope you'll still take care of each other long after we're gone."

"Mum…" he almost whined.

"You are family, all three of you. Whatever happens. Don't forget that."

* * *

 ** _If you're reading please let me know your thoughts, it's good motivation! :-)_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **The Past**

April rain, those long beautiful days of it, streams filling and spilling into rivers, the green is flourishing again and there's lambs on the way and foxes have been spotted hanging around the estate.

Seven-year-old Elsie Hughes is growing tall, her legs are thin and long and she can run the distance from the farm to her best friend's house in under ten minutes. Youth often yields short-sightedness and she has failed to account for the damp air and muddy earth and is a soggy mess by the time she reaches the courtyard and skirts around it to the back gate of the Carson's cottage.

Somewhere along the way it started to rain and blinded her view as she reached her destination and she misses the bike abandoned on the ground and trips, flying over the top of it and skidding along the gravel. She must have screamed, or screeched, and Mr Carson appeared out of his shed, dashing forward to scoop her up and carry her inside the house out of the rain.

"I've told you boy about that bike," he is saying as Elsie sits on top of the table trying not to cry. Mrs. Carson is bathing her leg with hot water and antiseptic and Beryl is holding her hand.

"It was raining Dad, I didn't want the bread to get wet." Charles is fussed, Elsie can hear it in his voice, and as much as her leg hurts she feels bad for being the cause of Charles' telling-off.

"Bit of a deep cut," Mrs. Carson says, "but it'll bandage and be fine."

"We were going up to the rope swings, ma," Beryl says, "can we still go?"

"The rain has stopped, but stay dry, don't go getting in a state. I'm off to work and don't want to be worrying about the lot of you."

"Are you going?" Mr Carson barks at a sulking Charles who nods, head bowed, frown lines on his face. "Don't be causing any more accidents, she's just a kid."

Charles casts a glance at Elsie's tear-streaked face and nods solemnly; he's not even sure if he still wants to go now but Beryl is already putting her trainers on and she throws his to him, so he finds his coat and traipses behind them during the walk.

* * *

Later, there are other children from the village on the swings and they all play together, pushing each other, skidding in the mud, sharing sandwiches and Mrs. Hughes' shortbread. The rain-soaked sky has given way to watercolour clouds and a pale blue sky, hints of warmth in the specks of sunshine allowed through. Charles has climbed one of the old oaks and balances on a thick branch, from there he can survey the rest of the children and see down into the village; in the distance he can see the grandeur of Downton, dark bricked after all the rain, the sand-coloured path stands out like caramel through the deep green of the spring grass. He thinks he will come back here when it's quiet and read in silence.

Below him Elsie stands looking up, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. He is surprised to see her looking up at him and he tightens his lips as he stares back. Guilt is a strange feeling, his chest feels tight and he wants to be cruel to her, send her away with a harsh word, but instead he scrambles down as quickly as he got up there.

"What's up?" he huffs.

"The swing made my knee hurt."

He looked to the thick padded bandage his mother had used to stem the bleeding.

"And I can't climb…" she looked up, "it's too tall."

"You want to go home?"

She shook her head.

"Come on," he took her around the back of the tree where there were long-trodden footholds, cupped his hands together so she could boost up to the first step. Then he grabbed her waist and hoisted her until she was high enough to reach the lowest branch and jerk herself along. He sits beside her, both swinging their legs; there is a smile on her face as she holds on and looks down below her to the screeches of children playing.

"You can see the house," he says pointing and she follows his gaze.

"It looks nice, imagine being a Princess or something and that being your home."

He smirks at her words and is reminded she is seven and he is ten and her imagination is girly and his isn't.

"Sorry," he finally says, "for the bike, you know, your leg."

She screws her mouth up in an endearingly cute way, "I'm sorry you told got told off." She says, and her Scottish accent seems thicker then and he realises perhaps for the first time in his life guilt works both ways.

"Your leg hurt?"

"A bit."

"I'll help you down later." He says, and then looks back at the view. Charles Carson is serious and likes to seclude himself most of the time, he doesn't mix with the other children in the same way and has never found it easy to fit in. But it's easy with her. Though he won't realise that for a long time.

* * *

 **The Present**

As the words left her mouth her brain struggled to catch up, piecing together all possible outcomes and realising that telling the story was perhaps not the best of ideas.

She had been caught off-guard and it was so difficult to fit in. Two months into her new job and she still felt like the newbie. She ate dinner alone in the courtyard, she wasn't included in their jokes and she seemed to be inhabiting the role of some matronly type, a role she wasn't entirely comfortable taking on.

It hadn't taken long for the rest of the staff to learn she had been given the job because of her association with Mr. Carson, and it had taken Elsie even less time to work out a few things herself: one, that one of the long-term cleaners had pretty much been promised the job Elsie now had; two, Charles wasn't entirely liked by those that worked for him, they didn't trust him, he was part of the 'other side'. They saw him as snooty, privileged and stoic. And three, there was very much a divide between the upstairs and the down.

Elsie would class herself as downstairs. She wasn't sure the rest of the staff did. They took her quiet demeanour, her focussed work ethic, as her being aloof and indifferent. And that was where the trouble started because she had said what she had to raise a laugh, to become part of their group and be one of the workers.

"He's got a stick up his arse and that's the truth of it," Sarah said, puffing her cigarette out of the kitchen window.

"Passed me over again," Thomas sulked, "I was meant to have that job in accounts, not stuck down here shovelling shit for them lot."

"You move suitcases from room to room," Sarah laughed harshly, "great skill."

"I-uh-I don't think he's so bad," Alfred stuttered, and Elsie smiled at that, rinsing her mug in the sink, her back to the room.

"You're a soft sod," Sarah said, flicking her cigarette end to the gravel below.

"Take no notice," Anna said, she was sitting at the table flicking through a magazine and sipping a coffee. Elsie liked her, she was softly-spoken and kind, wise though young.

"She'd tell us a tale or two I bet," Sarah said, "you must have some gossip on him."

Elsie turned slowly, drying her hands on a towel, "I assume you mean me." She shrugged, "I haven't seen him for many years I'm afraid. I wouldn't say I know him well now."

"But you grew up together, didn't you?" Sarah said. "You must have gossip from when he was young."

She bit her lip, thinking it over.

"Nah, she's got nothing," Thomas said getting to his feet. "She'd probably tell us he was a boring old twat at fifteen too, liked nothing more than bossing around the other school kids."

She couldn't argue with that. He had always been that little bit bossy. But there was no way she'd confirm it to them.

"Can't believe he's Teflon man," Sarah laughed. "Everyone's got some part of their past they'd rather hide. Bet them lot burnt any skeletons when he hooked up with Miss High and Mighty."

Elsie wondered if they always spoke in such a free and disparaging manner; everyone gossiped, she knew that, it was one of the things that had made her such a private person.

"He always knew business," she finally said, "when he was thirteen his mother had made batches of cakes for some big party. Charles stole every single one from the kitchen and sold them off to the village children, so many pence per slice."

Anna laughed, "That's kinda cute."

"His father didn't think so." Elsie said, too quick to stop herself.

"Ha, tough old sod Carson senior, was he? We've heard rumours." Thomas scoffed.

"He was formidable, there's a reason he's still remembered here, all these years on." She said, more aware now of her words.

"She's saying he beat him to a pulp!" Sarah gloated, closing the kitchen window.

"Ah, I didn't –," Elsie started.

"Not bad for a start," Sarah said, and she and Thomas swung out of the room together, already onto their next piece of gossip.

"Oh god, why do I feel like I've just slipped information to the devil?" Elsie said aloud, and Anna smiled at her.

"Don't worry, you didn't say anything awful. It was a sweet image." She finished her coffee.

"Are they always like that?"

"Yes. Always." Anna got to her feet, collecting her things together.

"I'll remember to be on my guard." She glanced at Alfred who was looking at her wide-eyed. "And you need to stand up to them too," she assured him. "Are they always so… so rude?"

His cheeks reddened, giving a half shrug and then nodding.

"We shall have to put them in their place I feel."

* * *

 **The Past**

Elsie biked over to Beryl's after dinner, her backpack in the front basket packed for the weekend. It was July and they were going camping and she was so looking forward to being out from her parents' gaze and spending a few days alone with Beryl.

The gravel kicked up around her back tyre as she skidded around the corner of the house and down the driveway. She hopped off, parked it by the side of the house and pulled her bag free to go inside.

It was 1988 and she was fifteen and life was good. She had new white dungarees, a fluorescent pink t-shirt and matching socks on and enough beads to sink a small boat.

"I've got to be, got to be certain," she sang, "I've got to be…so sure!" She ruffled her hair as she got to the corner, puffing it up on top.

The sound of voices made her stop. She recognised Charlie's immediately and paused, pressing herself against the side of the house and peering around the corner to where Charles was leaning against the side of his father's shed, arms folded, head tilted forward and that sulky expression she had come to recognise.

"It's no big deal," Alice said, "Not really. It's not like we promised anything, we're only eighteen after all."

"Yeah, but –," he sighed, "we can still…" he shrugged.

"Charlie, you're going to York, you want to be close to home. But I don't."

"Al," he complained, "It's a decent university."

"Yeah, it is. But I'm going to London for a reason. I want to get away from this." She stopped, her pretty face tilted to one side as she looked up at him. Elsie watched how her long blonde hair tumbled down her back; she remembered how they looked on the night of their school party – her in a pale blue dress and Charles in a tux with a frilly shirt. She and Beryl had stared at them through the upstairs bedroom window, listening to Tiffany and singing as they watched Mrs. Carson take photos.

"I don't want to stick here Charlie, I want to see something else, do something more." She touched his arm, "You could've come."

He laughed at that, more of a bark really, "You don't really want me to though."

Alice looked away, and Charles shook his head. "Thanks very much."

"We've been together for like two years."

"Not quite."

"We're only young."

"You keep saying that, you could just say you want to try someone else…" he breathed deeply, touching her shoulder, "we never even… you know."

She smiled at him, "Mum says you'll know when it's the right person."

He rolled his eyes, "Great, so it wasn't me."

"Charlie…" she leaned into him, nudging his chin with hers and kissing him.

Elsie felt her stomach twist – she didn't like Alice, she didn't understand her, why kiss him if you're dumping him? She closed her eyes for a moment and then went back to her bike, deliberately banging it against the wall so it clattered and then she marched into the back yard.

"Hiya," she chirped.

"Hey squirt," Charles said, unfolding his arms and moving away from Alice. "Nice outfit. You think white dungarees are the right choice for camping?"

"Duh, I've got clothes to change into!" she laughed, passing them and going inside the house.

"What's going on?" Beryl asked from the kitchen table, she was flicking through a magazine and was wearing a lime green scarf tied into her hair. "She dumped him?" She blew out a large blue bubblegum.

"Think so, dunno."

"She's a right tart you know," Beryl looked up at her, "Bill reckons she's been snogging at least another three guys at school."

Elsie dropped her backpack and sat down, "You told him?"

"Course not, wouldn't believe me anyway, goo-goo over her."

Elsie screwed her mouth up; she'd rather not think about it. "So, what time we going?" she asked excitedly, "I'm ready to go when you are. We still gonna get a bag of chips to take with us?"

"Here's the thing," Beryl said closing her magazine.

"Ohhh no, don't tell me Bill is coming."

"He might just stay tonight."

"Bez, we said just the two of us."

The kitchen door slammed shut and they both looked up to see Charles standing there, red-faced and wide-eyed.

"Bloody girls!"

* * *

 **The Present**

Elsie was surprised to find herself called to Charles' office that Friday afternoon. She had hoped to be away early, to have dinner with Etty and watch a film. She would be away for the weekend staying with her father and Elsie wanted at least an evening with her before she left.

It was one of those heavy afternoons, rain drifting in and out, specks of sunlight in-between and it had given her a headache and that too had put her behind.

Therefore, she was late finishing, and frazzled as she hurried down the corridor towards his office. Others were leaving, heading home for the weekend and she smiled and nodded at them as they passed. She was wearing a long black skirt that swung around her as she walked, a purple cardigan and a scarf around her neck. She was finally starting to feel comfortable there, and that in turn was making her remember what it was to be alive, to be a woman.

Tapping on Charles' door she pushed it open an inch before he even called her in and he looked up annoyed, eyebrows raised as he stared at her for a second beyond what was comfortable.

"Sorry, am I disturbing?"

He held his hand up and beckoned her in, "Shut the door."

She did so, a feeling of apprehension creeping in that wasn't there before. She pulled out the chair and sat across from him folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"I'm sorry to have to call you in, Elsie."

"That's perfectly alright." She took a breath, "I'm sensing there is something wrong with my work?"

"No. Not at all." He removed his glasses, sitting back in his chair to observe her, "Nothing but praise from all involved."

She smiled, hoping somehow that would catch him off guard, "Thank you. That's so good to hear."

His face didn't move.

Perhaps these days she didn't know him as well as she once did, but she knew that look, she remembered that look, and he was not happy.

"It has come to my attention that you have…well…" he folded his hands together beneath his chin. "That you have revealed, for want of a better word, personal details."

She narrowed her eyes, racking her brain for what information she'd revealed about herself.

"About me," he said.

Again she frowned, and then she remembered and sank back in her chair, her mouth opening to sigh.

"I see from your expression you know of what I'm speaking."

"In my defence," she stumbled, "I never meant… I didn't say anything scandalous. Did I?" She was at a loss at first, searching for a defence. And then her brain switched and she became defensive, annoyed that he had purposefully called her there to chastise her, like a naughty schoolgirl.

"I do not wish, Ms. Hughes, for my staff to know details about my personal life."

"It was an anecdote from childhood," she shrugged, palms lifting.

"Nevertheless, it revealed –,"

"It revealed nothing. It was a harmless story about a childhood prank, everyone has hundreds of them."

"These are my wishes." He said firmly, a steely tone to his voice.

She closed her mouth, staring at him for a moment. "Well then, as you wish. Mr. Carson." She said pointedly.

He felt his shoulders slump in-line with his dropping stomach. The first hint of concern that he might not have handled this in the best way possible.

"Well, if that's all." He said, shuffling papers on his desk.

"Yes." She got to her feet; she should remain silent, think of her need for the new job ahead of her personal feelings. But then she was in her forties and had seen enough of life and its twists and turns to dismiss thoughts of not defending herself. "You know what Charles, we aren't all here to turn against you."

He stood too, towering over her. "These are not all pleasant people."

"No, and I know that now and believe me they will not get the best of me again. But regardless, I would never say anything to anyone that was negative about you. And the fact you jump to such a conclusion is a little…" she sucked in a breath between her teeth.

"These are trying times," was all he offered.

"Yes. I appreciate that." She watched the way he twisted the wedding ring on his hand and wondered why he still wore it. "But goodness Charlie, you need to relax a little, go home and have a bloody beer. Take a night off."

He licked his lips, only exhaling his long-held breath when she closed the door behind her.

* * *

 **The Past**

"You've been a right fucking bitch about it," Charles said, and it was the first time Elsie had ever heard him swear or raise his voice in such a way.

She shrank down into her sleeping bag, keeping her eyes closed which only seemed to heighten her knowledge of what was going on around her. She noted every sound: Beryl's deep snores behind her; the ticking of insects outside of the tent and the footsteps and voices of Charles and Alice.

She had been intensely uncomfortable about the entire scenario as it had played out. Bill turning up with his sleeping bag and him and Beryl spending an hour sitting by the campfire kissing as Elsie laid reading her book. And then Charlie had unexpectedly joined them, with his own tent and sleeping bag, and he'd kicked off big-style about Bill being there.

Elsie had sat in silence by the tree listening and watching as the argument played out; in the end it was decided Bill could stay if he slept in Charles' tent. Things had got better then, they had walked down to the river to get water and Charles had set up the fire properly so they could boil the water and cook. Beryl heated sausages in a frying pan and poured in tins of beans. Elsie used the boiling water to make mugs of tea and they felt very grown up as they sat together eating and laughing. After they played cards and Beryl had brought packs of biscuits so they snacked late into the night.

The girls had laid in the darkness of their tent whispering about things and then Elsie realised Beryl had dropped to sleep and she turned over, trying to find a comfortable spot.

It was when a torch flashed that she realised somebody wasn't asleep and then Charlie's voice closely followed. She wondered at first if it was him and Bill playing a prank but then she had heard Alice's voice.

"You shouldn't have come all this way." She heard him say, "Not on your own."

"I know the way."

"It's late and dark."

"Look, I was out with the guys. They parked at gravel spot. They're waiting there for me."

"Guys?" he raised an eyebrow, "you mean Charlie Grigg and his mates?"

"I just wanted to say sorry, you were angry earlier."

"That's because you've been a right fucking bitch about it!"

"Charles…" Alice said, and Elsie sat up in her sleeping bag, annoyed at the girl's whining voice. "Don't be like that."

Elsie looked down towards Beryl, searching her face, but her eyes were closed and she slept peacefully. She kicked her legs out of the sleeping bag and crawled towards the entrance of the tent, peeling up the zip just slightly so she could see out.

In the soft shadows she could see Alice pressed back against the tree Elsie had earlier read by, and Charles was in front of her, kissing her. This confused Elsie no end, they were meant to be over, they kept arguing and saying they were broken up. She couldn't even understand why Alice had appeared, ruining their camping trip.

It made her feel shy, watching them kiss, she felt scared of it but couldn't turn away. There was something about watching that was dangerously intoxicating. She lay still, her eyes wide now, adjusted to the darkness, and she could see Alice's hands tracing over Charles' chest, and then down his torso, to the tops of his legs and then out of sight. Charles made a funny sound and Elsie watched as one of his hands cupped Alice's breast. Elsie squeezed her eyes shut, angry at him for being so stupid.

When she dared to look again his hand was on her hip and his fingers were curled into her jeans, almost as if they were desperate to go further, to melt through the material and to her skin. Elsie's stomach churned.

Alice sniggered, pulling back from their kiss and taking his hand, she pushed it down between her legs and he lifted his head, slowly pulling his hand free.

"I don't want to do it here; don't want us to lose our virginity here." He said, his voice low and heated. Elsie blushed, though Alice didn't, she just laughed again.

"What's funny?" he smiled, "You're drunk, you've been on the cider." He teased.

"Yep," she nodded, reaching to push up his t-shirt, "come on."

"My kid sister is sleeping in there, it's not quite what I imagined for my first time."

"What makes you think it's _my_ first time?" she said confidently and that changed things.

Charles pushed her back, "What? But who? We've been together since we were sixteen."

"Not officially, not all the time." She tried to touch him again but he caught hold of her fingers.

"Is Charlie Grigg waiting for you to report back on me?"

She stepped away from him, "It's not like that."

"But it is him you've had sex with, right, my so-called friend?"

"Charles," she sighed, "it's not like we're married."

"No. And we never will be."

When Elsie was sure Alice had gone she lay still for a while, counting seconds in her head until she thought she'd reached ten minutes. She told herself that if Charles had gone back to his tent then she'd go to sleep and do her best to forget what she'd seen.

But he didn't.

And so she unzipped the tent fully and crept out.

Charles looked up as she appeared, a shadow to him by the dying fire.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied, and then shivered.

"You need to pee?"

"What?"

"You can go back there, if you need to." He pointed behind the bushes.

"Yeah," she leant back into the tent and found her canvas shoes, disappearing behind the bushes.

When she came back he was holding a torch and lit the path back to the fire for her.

"I've relit it," he said, "should warm soon enough."

He paced back and forth, "You know Els, don't bother getting a boyfriend."

"What? Why?"

"It's a waste of time."

"I'll told you before, nobody fancies me."

"They will."

She bent down to the fire, "Not all boys are bad."

"No…" he breathed deeply, "I'm going for a walk."

"Where? You know it's like two in the morning."

"What do you think's gonna happen, your mam's gonna whack your arse for being up late?" She didn't reply and he stared at her pale face, the firelight flickering now. "Sorry." He said.

"S'alright. Can I come with you?"

He nodded, "Put your coat on though."

They didn't walk far; she followed him to a bench on the edge of the hill, deliberately positioned so that it captured the view of Downton below. It wasn't quite a full moon but not far off and the light was dark blue around them, almost warming despite the hour.

"You remember when life was simple, like we'd worry about homework and going out on our bikes and stuff."

"Yeah. But we still do those things."

"You do, you're still at school."

"You can't miss it," she laughed, "you were on countdown to leave. And you said you liked the University."

"I do."

"Then why are you moaning?"

He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Don't let her ruin stuff."

He looked back at her, "You heard?"

She felt her chest flush red, "Just some bits."

"That makes me feel… God…"

"You know, I'm just a kid to you, I always have been. But my advice is she's rubbish and you should just forget about her go to Uni and just like, you know, have fun. Maybe learn stuff."

He sniggered, shaking his head as he stared at her.

Finally, he sat back, his arm brushing hers.

"Thanks. And you're not just a kid to me."

* * *

 **The Present**

Elsie put her daughter on the train at 9:20 and she rang to say she had met her father at the other station hours later. Now alone, Elsie wished she was working instead of wondering what to do with herself. Saturday morning was filled with food shopping but by the afternoon she had cleaned their tiny flat and was bored and lonely.

She drove to the house, parked for free with her staff pass, and walked the grounds watching visitors. For a while she sat in the courtyard with a coffee, the collar of her coat pulled up against the cool air, her hair and scarf fluttered in the breeze and she tried to see things through a visitor's eyes. She thinks of the hundreds of years this building has stood, and is amazed not only at its resilience but at the office it holds, the fact that it has remained such a focal point of the surrounding towns and villages, a workplace, an attraction. And that something as stuffy and outdated as Lords and birth rights continues to exist; how it must have shook things when a commoner married into it. She remembers Beryl's letters flowing with gossip and pictures from the elaborate wedding; Rosamund like a princess in the carriage on her way to the church, the house behind her.

Breathing deeply, she finished the last of her coffee and looked up once more, surveying the busy crowds. For a second she thinks she sees Charles walking through the glass-fronted shop, and feeling odd she turns and walks away.

She moves quickly to the car park, starts her engine and then realises she doesn't want to go home.

Instead she drives to the old familiar cottage of her childhood. The Carson cottage. There is still their name on the mailbox and she wonders if Beryl finds it hard; she must walk past this place every day on her way to the house. It looks empty, and as she pulls onto the drive she has vague memories of riding her bike here, skidding around the corner, racing up the path into the broad back garden. Sleepovers in the garden in tents, football games, water fights, singing and doing handstands against the side wall.

It makes her laugh; she twirls her keys in her hand as she opens the gate and makes her way around to the back of the house. The building is surely empty and for that she is glad.

The garden, surprisingly, is well-kept though and Mr. Carson's old shed still remains. There's a lovely wooden bench, hand carved, and she passes by it, leaving her handbag on it and peering into the kitchen window. As she leans in her elbow catches the drainpipe and a small pocket of water lands on her back soaking through her cardigan. She chastises herself for leaving her coat in the car.

Shaking it off she throws it over the washing line. There is a hint of warmth to the air, they are in May now and the rain has passed. She is glad of the seasons, she has grown this way over time, realising they come and go and are always reliable. When the dark times appear some time soon the sunshine will hit her again.

She takes a seat on the bench, watching her cardigan dance in the breeze.

Eyes closed, she remembers the garden as it used to be. The breeze on her face carries the fragrance of Mrs. Carson's baking, the sounds of Mr. Carson's tinkering in the shed, Beryl and Charlie bickering and giggling back and forth.

She is sorry she wasn't there when Mr. Carson had his heart attack and needed care. Nor when Mrs. Carson succumbed to cancer and died at home in her bed with her children at her side. She is sorry that when she left Yorkshire at nineteen she selfishly forgot of the family who had invested so much in raising her.

The tears she lets fall are perhaps long overdue. She has run all her life from one thing to the next, and it wasn't until struck down herself with the threat of death that she stopped. Her hand briefly rests on her breast and she can see the scar there in her mind, as wicked and ugly as her mistakes.

When the gate closes she doesn't register it at first and continues to silently cry over the ghosts in the garden. But when there's a footfall ahead of her she opens her eyes as if she's slept for a year.

"I wondered whose car it was," Charles says and she wipes her face quickly. "I was driving by and saw it."

"Sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't mean to intrude; does somebody live here?"

"No," he shakes his head, standing tall over her.

"The garden seems immaculate."

"Call it nostalgia," he shrugs, "I can't bear to part with it and I don't want to see it crumble."

"I never thought of you as sentimental."

"I'm not."

She bites her lips, knowing he must have seen her cry. Awkward over that fact.

He seems to consider what to do next but eventually sits beside her, "I had this bench made. My parents' initials here, see."

She traces the shapes of the carved letters on the back of it and smiles, "That's a nice touch."

For several minutes they sit there in the clouded sunshine breeze, both watching the arms of her cardigan twisting around themselves.

"I apologise, if I was harsh the other day."

She breathed deeply.

"I'd like to say it was uncharacteristic of me, but I'm afraid this is what I've become."

"I don't believe that." She turned to look at his profile, "It's my fault, I didn't think. I'm not used to working in an environment like this. It won't happen again. I will be entirely professional from now on."

He felt bad for curbing an element of her personality, guilty for hurting her, for he knew he had.

"Nice to be back here," she said softly, "so many memories."

"Seems forever ago. Since they were here."

"You miss them?"

"Every day."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, when they died. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye or come to the funeral."

He shrugged, "We both know why."

It was the first second of acknowledgement for either of them and she stared at him for the longest time wondering if he'd really said it, if he really meant what she thought, if he really remembered what she did.

"Beryl said you were ill."

Her eyes troubled for a moment.

"You don't have to elaborate, I just… I'm sorry. For whatever you went through." He licked his lips, his chest trembling with fear, "I am on your side Elsie, I always was."

She pursed her lips together, like she did as a child, and it made him smile, he remembered all the times she would stare at him that way – quizzical blue eyes and freckled nose. But there was pain there now and he asked himself a thousand questions as to what had hurt her and how he wished he could take her back to those days when afternoons could be spent sitting on the branch of a tree; when her eyes were innocent and there was nothing more painful than a grazed knee easily bandaged.

The breeze picked up and the gravel shifted, her cardigan blew to the grass and all seemed unstable. But for a moment they were still. And time moved on around them.

* * *

 _Please feel free to review, if you're so inclined - they are all much appreciated x_


	5. Chapter 5

**And Time – chapter 5**

 **The Past**

"He's home again," Beryl had said as she pulled another pint.

Elsie's interest suddenly picked up - _he_ was home.

She kept her company most nights now, down The Grantham Arms, as Beryl worked her part time job. It was one of three jobs she had taken on since quitting school eight months since. Elsie remained in education, or rather she had, but now she was free and hoping to move onto the next stage – university.

"For the summer?" Elsie asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Nope. Misery is home forever now. Finished his degree, out of his house-share so moping about home looking like the sad fucker he is."

"Bez."

"I'm not kidding. He's had a face on him since that last girlfriend fizzled out."

Elsie turned over the beer card on the table, reading the inscription. "Wasn't that like March?"

"Who knows. Ages. Needs to get his little pecker wet then he'd cheer up."

"Oh my god, you can't say that!" Elsie giggled, keenly aware of the customer beside her handing over loose change and tutting as he walked away with his pint.

"How's things going for you anyway, any progress with Tommy?"

"No," Elsie leant forward, resting her chin on the bar. "I don't think he's interested?"

"How you checked?"

"You know," she shrugged, "I chatted to him. At lunch, in Literature, that's the only one I'm next to him in now. He dumped History after Christmas."

"You gotta be more forceful, forward."

"How?"

"You know, show him what you got. Like this." She leant forward, wiggled her chest until Elsie got a good glimpse of cleavage.

"I can't do that. I'd feel a right lump."

"Well you never gonna get any if you don't make a move. And Tommy Wright is fit as."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Maybe I'm meant to remain a virgin."

"You're eighteen – and you can't go off to university a virgin."

"Nobody will know! And it's not in the campus rules."

"Can smell it on you," Beryl teased, a naughty laugh following. "Not saying get one of these yet." She raised a hand, waggling her engagement ring in the air.

"Thank fuck! I can't stand being alone with anyone long enough to get married. Not even you.."

"Sod off."

They both laughed.

"I got to go, Dad wants to talk stuff through again. My 'plans'."

Beryl rolled her eyes, "Sooner Bill gets our flat sorted the better, then you can come sleep in our spare room – out from the parents' glare."

"And listen to you shagging all night, I think not."

"There's such a thing as headphones," she leaned over the bar, kissing Elsie's cheek. "Seeya tomorrow."

* * *

 **The Present**

It was raining when she left that afternoon, a light summer rain she thought, and she was finishing early because it was her half day.

Her heels clattered on the cobbles as she dashed out of the door and headed across the courtyard. Pausing, she waited by the restaurant doors, the rain was heavier than expected, and stared at the sky waiting for there to be a break in the deluge. These things never lasted for long.

Her stockings were splattered with wet and she backed up towards the warmth of the open door as customers came out, put up umbrellas and dashed toward the car park. She wished she'd remembered to put her umbrella in her handbag that morning.

Turning she scanned the restaurant, mid-week early afternoon and only a scattering of customers left in the main section; the carriage section was reserved for special bookings and was empty except for one man. It had been weeks since he'd chastised her; weeks since their conversation in the back yard of his parents' cottage.

She noted the broad back, the way he moved as he held up a glass to the light and squinted at it. The movement made her smile. As a lad he was tall and skinny, like a broad bean struggling toward the light. Now he was solid, whole, and seemed so sure of himself.

He raised his hand to her, she was surprised he noticed her watching, but she waved back.

He beckoned her in and that too surprised her, almost flustered her, and she was lost for a second against the glass walls in front of her. She struggled to find the door in and wandered along the side until she noted the small silver handle.

"That's an issue," he said jovially as she went inside, "finding the door."

"Perhaps you need a 'push' sign on it."

He smiled, "Perhaps. Half day?"

"It is, I was just seeking shelter." She scanned the made-up table, "You're entertaining?"

"Not really, I'm trialling the new afternoon tea, this one is £10 more expensive than the ordinary one, so I want to judge if I'd pay it."

She frowned, "You're hardly the person to judge a £10 increase."

"Oh?" he said, lifting his chin.

"Well, I mean," she forgot herself sometimes; he was her boss now. "I just mean £10 to you might be very little but might be half a weekly shopping bill to another."

"Are you in a position to judge?"

"I'd say I very often feel like I'm limping from pay cheque to pay cheque so perhaps more so, yes."

He always liked that she could hold her own.

He pulled out a chair, "Go on then, take a seat."

"Oh, I didn't mean…"

"Do you have plans?"

She had planned to put her pyjamas on and lay in the sofa reading a book and eating some of the handmade chocolates Beryl had sneaked her from the kitchen.

"No," she replied. "And it does look very good."

"Well then, you'll be a better judge."

She slipped her coat off and took the seat, watching as he poured the tea. "You get a bottle of sparkling wine, but I was planning on working later."

She smiled, "You know I've finished for the day."

"You want the wine?"

"Tea will be fine."

He sat across from her, "Well, what do you think?" He asked, hands wide at the wonderful spread.

"Did Beryl make the mini quiche?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I think I'll start there." She allowed him to serve as she put a napkin in her lap. "It's really beautiful in here Charles, when was this section added?"

"About eight years ago, designed it myself."

"Pretty impressive. I love the art."

"Thank you. That was more Rosamund."

"She has good taste."

"She did."

"Oh my goodness, this is perfection," she said after just one bite of the quiche, "the pastry is melt in the mouth."

"That's my sister." He sipped his tea, "You could take the wine home with you, I won't mind."

"Oh no, I was only joking…"

"– I don't want you to feel cheated."

She frowned, "It's a free lunch, how could I?"

"You said about the pay cheque." He shook his head at her expression, "Sorry, didn't mean to speak out of turn."

"No I, it's just not... I'm not comfortable talking about money. Or my lack of it."

He sat back, finishing his first cup of tea. "We've known each other a lifetime, haven't we?"

"We knew each other as children."

"I was twenty-two I think, when you left."

"You were."

"Then we weren't children."

She sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "I lost a fair amount when I had to sell my business. It wasn't easy, and I'm still recovering. And then there's the bills I pay."

"You mean, the flat?"

"Oh god, that awful thing." She sat forward, scanning the cakes, "You think this is marzipan?"

"Yes. What's wrong with the flat?"

"It's… I'd like to say it's bearable, but it's pretty horrendous, so small and it's right in the centre of town so never quiet."

He watched as she shared the cakes between them. "What about a property closer to the estate, in one of the nearby villages?"

"Lovely idea Charles, but rather out of my price range."

"What about if there was a cottage _on_ the estate, somewhere you could rent for you and Ethel? You know we still have some for the workers, tenants, we don't rent them all privately."

"I thought a lot were holiday lets now."

"But not all."

"Oh. So, are you offering me one?"

"Would you consider it impertinent if I did?"

Her voice softened, "No. No, I'd consider it very kind."

He smiled momentarily and then blushed, glancing to his plate, "Well then, I will set about looking into it for you. Utilities and what-have-you are separate of course but I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement."

"You don't have to do that. I don't want special treatment."

"I don't like to think of you as struggling, nor that you might have to leave and find a better paid job."

She raised her eyebrows, questioning.

"You're very good Elsie, as I knew you would be. And when people retire and move on I would like to think you will still be here, I'd like to think of you considering moving to a higher position. I know it's only been a matter of months but –,"

"Thank you, Charles. I appreciate that."

"These responsibilities, can Ethel's father not help?"

She shook her head, "It isn't to do with him. It's more to do with my sister."

"Becky?" Elsie hardly mentioned Becky, not even as a child, for many years he thought she was an only child, and he knew how delicate the subject was. She looked away and he decided to move on quickly. "It's alright. We can… I will look into a property. I'm not bullying you into it or –,"

"–Of course not. You never could." She smiled at him, he had always been so extraordinarily kind. "Shall I do the scones?"

"Please."

She took his side plate and sliced a scone in half, spreading jam over it and then a heavy dollop of clotted cream.

"Elsie," he said gently.

"Mm?"

"We were good friends, weren't we?"

"Yes, we were."

She wanted to say it meant they could be again, but perhaps these things were more organic, maybe they didn't need to state anything.

"Can I ask how things are with the divorce?" She said, sucking cream from her thumb.

"My solicitor thinks it should be complete by the end of the summer."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"It is, I mean, it will be good to get everything clear and organised. I don't like it being all… up-in-the-air."

"I know."

"And his Lordship and I have talked it all through, he has impressed upon me that my job is secure."

"I'm so glad to hear that."

"I wouldn't want to leave the estate."

"I know how much it means to you."

"Yes… And I really don't want to have more upheaval than need be, no need to give anyone reason to poke their grubby little noses into my business." There was a slight awkwardness at his sudden change in tone, but she said nothing, just kept very still as he righted himself and calmed. "So," he said, flexing his fingers and she noticed that the wedding ring had finally gone. "Do you feel we should have a small bowl of fruit or berries, on the side for the scones, to justify the price, cut through the cream?"

"That would be lovely, yes." She wanted to ask him more, press him for details on Rosamund but then he was so very private about it all, it wasn't in his nature to share freely. "Tell me, do you ever take a break?"

"As in, a holiday? Not really no," he chuckled. "Perhaps I will, during the winter downtime. We close during January."

"Beryl said."

"You and she, you're close again?"

"As if we never lived apart."

"That's wonderful to hear. That really does please me."

They both looked up as the door opened and Charles turned in his chair and rose to greet his son, "Tom."

"Father, how's the afternoon tea?"

"Very good, but don't trust my judgement. Tom, have you met Elsie Hughes?"

"Mrs Hughes, so good to finally say hello. My aunt has spoken most fondly of you over the years."

Elsie rose, reaching to shake his hand. He was a handsome young man, but Elsie could very much see the Crawley family line in his features. Charles clapped his hand against his son's shoulders, "Take a seat, join us. I'll go get more tea."

"So, you grew up with my father then," Tom said when they were alone.

"I did. We had a pretty idyllic start to life as it goes."

"I can imagine, I had the same, living here. Wonderful setting in which to start life."

"Your sister and yourself, you stayed here, attended school nearby?"

"Yes, one of my father's requests, he never wanted us to board, I think he probably saw how much uncle Robert and mum hated it."

"Your mother didn't want you to attend neither?"

"Mother wasn't quite so interested in our schooling, my father was the one who dealt with the day-to-day. Mum has always been…"

Elsie narrowed her eyes as Tom reached for a scone and breathed deeply, searching for the right words.

"...My mother spends a lot of time in London, as you might have noticed."

"I just thought she wasn't here due to the divorce."

"That too, but she prefers the city. She runs her clothing empire. Different parenting styles."

"I understand that."

"My father said you have a daughter."

"I do, Ethel, we call her Etty – she hates the name I gave her but it was my mother's. She's settling in, enjoying school."

"Here we go," Charles said, returning with a fresh pot of tea.

"I like this little meringue things," Tom said, "these are a new addition. Fancy display works too. You think the price is okay, Elsie?"

She nodded, "Yes, I don't think customers will be disappointed."

"You a specialist on afternoon tea, then?"

Elsie laughed, "Hardly. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"It's the joy of working here, you never know what task is going to befall you next. We've still not quite recovered from my sister getting stuck in the pig pen. Came home looking like a scarecrow."

"That's Mary, right?"

"Yes," Charles said. "She got it into her head she was going to help breed them. She was only fourteen at the time mind."

"She soon passed on those duties when she realised the amount of dirt involved. Still, we got the finest breed of pigs." Tom laughed.

Charles nodded proudly, "That's very true."

"Will you be attending the summer ball next month?" Tom asked.

"Oh, I hadn't thought. Is this similar to the summer party we had as children?"

"Almost, bit grander these days," Charles said.

"Dad decided he wanted to do something for the estate workers, an event they might not otherwise get to attend. There's a marquee set up in the grounds for us, a four-course meal and then dancing and fireworks. Quite the affair. Everyone gets dressed up in their finest. What's the colour this year, father?"

"Red, and black and white of course but we settled on red as the theme. Or shades of." He looked to Elsie. "You really should attend. It would be nice to see you there."

"I'm sure I'll do my very best, it does sound quite the treat."

"You could bring your daughter," he offered, "if that's a concern."

"That's kind; she loves any excuse to get dressed up." She glanced at her watch. "And, unfortunately, I need to go, I have to do a few chores before my Etty gets home."

"Oh, that's a shame." Charles said, genuinely deflated.

"My apologies. Very nice to meet you Tom, enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Thank you very much for the tea, Mr Carson," she said, and then she was gone.

"She seems very nice," Tom said, "I like the accent."

"I'd forgotten it, you know," Charles said wistfully.

"You like her," Tom stated, and his father huffed and bustled with the teapot.

"She's a very old friend, close enough to be a sister."

"But she isn't a sister. There's no shame in it, finding someone attractive, none at all. You and mother have been apart for months."

"Yes, and can you imagine your mother's reaction if I started dating. No. I don't think there'll be any of that for quite some time."

"Never say never." Tom said. "You deserve somebody nice."

* * *

 **The Past**

It's June. The grass is at its freshest point; cut weekly, so green it's glowing. Elsie doesn't just walk upon it, she runs. Races. There is a purpose though she won't dwell upon it. Can't bring herself to face it.

She feels guilt though, for not being honest with her best friend. But then she hadn't been honest with her for years concerning this particular issue.

Maybe that was why she ran. To escape her guilt. Or confusion. Or own self-doubt.

There was no logic to what she was feeling, to how these feelings had grown and distracted her for far too long now.

She was breathless when she reached the top of the hill. Panting and slowing to a walk. Their spot. Where they'd played in the river and camped and fished. A place that had witnessed them grow up.

Evidence of his presence was scattered about: his fishing paraphernalia, a blanket with his back pack open on it – half-eaten sandwiches, an empty bag of crisps and a flask. She toed his trainers, turning them over, wandering the space. She circled the tree, trailing her hand over its surface, went around it twice, three times before she paused. The faint splash of water, and then Charlie on his back in the water, completely naked.

The palm of her hand sank into the bark; a rough texture beneath her skin, she dug her fingernails into it, the tender pads of her fingertips pressing strong, the wood softening beneath her touch until she felt as if her hand sank completely into the tree and she disappeared.

She wasn't breathing.

She had never seen a naked man before. Not in real life. Not in the flesh. There had been plain pictures in science; she and Beryl had dared each other once to look at a page in a magazine and blushed and giggled. But this was real and it made her stomach shrink and turn in upon itself.

He turned over in the water, pressing his hands down and pushing himself up and then he saw her watching and she turned around quickly, heart thudding.

It seemed to be silent for the longest time and she had that sinking feeling, a feeling that she had done something wrong and there would be consequences.

"Hey," he eventually said. "Squirt."

She licked her lips, keeping her back to him, hiding behind the tree. "Hi. Sorry."

"S'okay, you didn't know I was here. It was just hot, you know."

"It is. It's like the hottest June I've known."

She could tell he was out of the water now, could hear the muffled footsteps on the grass and then the movement as he reached for his clothes.

"You want a beer? I've got some, I was saving them."

She shuffled from foot to foot, "Sure." She closed her eyes, hands folded together, and the image of him was there – his long, lean body floating in the water, the sparse hair on his belly and travelling below.

It made her throat itch.

"Sorry bout that," he said and he suddenly seemed close. "Here," his hand came around in front of her holding a bottle of beer.

She stared at it for the longest time then took it from him.

"You know, I'm not a squirt anymore if you're giving me a beer." She turned around, eyes bright as she looked up at him. "I'm eighteen now."

"I know, I signed the card." He took a swig of beer, "Always a squirt to me." He placed his hand on her head, "See. Tiny."

She rolled her eyes. "You catch any fish?"

"Not tried yet." He sat on the blanket, stretching out his long legs, and she sat too, facing him at the opposite end of the blanket.

"How long you back for?"

"All summer," he groaned, "gonna be hell."

She felt crestfallen, "Why?"

He shrugged, "It's nice having your freedom, odd to be back living at home and following their rules."

"You could come up here, camp a lot. Or visit your friends from university." She wanted to dig, find out if he had a girlfriend yet. It had been months since she'd seen him, back at Easter when he'd been back a week and gushing over some new girl he'd been seeing.

"Not got too many." He stared at her, "Might not be too bad really, Dad got me a job at the house."

"Oh? You going to be a waiter again?"

It made her hope; she was still working at the restaurant but as a waitress now, she could see him plenty if they were both there.

"In the offices, going to learn more about how the estate runs, do odd jobs, act a bit like a secretary I guess."

She sniggered, "Isn't that a woman's job?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna wear a dress."

They both laughed and then he flopped back, laying on his back and staring up at the cloudless sky.

"You know really, it's not bad here."

"Oh?" she tried to keep her eyes from him but couldn't, not now she knew, not now she'd seen.

"If I tell you something you promise not to laugh?"

"Sure." She took a sip of her beer, it was still a relatively new taste to her and she wasn't entirely sure she liked it.

"Being here is home, I mean I know it is literally. But it really feels like home, like I belong here, like I don't ever want to leave."

"You just said you didn't want to come back."

"I didn't want to come back to living with my parents, but the estate is different – it's everything to me. I miss it when I'm gone. The house. The grounds. Here, by the river. It's where we grew up."

"Hard to believe you're twenty-two. That seems…"

"Ancient?" he lifted his head up, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"I was going to say 'serious' but you do seem kind of an old man to me now, yes." She nudged the side of his leg with her knee. She laid back too, closing her eyes and feeling the sunlight on her face.

"What you doing up here anyhow?" He asked, closing his eyes again.

"Needed some space."

"You not getting on with Mr and Mrs Hughes?" He teased.

"Kind of. I've finished school now so of course they want me helping out on the farm. And there's the other thing."

"Which is?"

"Becky."

He felt awkward now; he knew very little about Becky, only that she was younger and for some reason had remained in Scotland when they moved. She must have only been a baby when they left, he had never really dwelled on it though; as a child, things are just accepted.

"There's nobody for Becky, see." She continued softly. "Ma says Gran can't cope anymore…with her…"

"With Becky?"

"Yeah." She bit hard on her lip, opening her eyes and watching the branches of the tree above her blowing in the breeze. "My sister. She's not." Her eyes were wide as she looked up to the summer sky; she had never spoken about this with anybody outside of her immediate family. "She's not all right, see, in her head. She's not, she wasn't born quite right. Ma says we ought not to talk about it because people think things."

"My god, all these years I've known you and didn't know any of this. How've you hid it?" He had turned onto his side now, watching her.

She shrugged, "I don't know her that well, she was only a baby when we left. Da thought it best, we had no money and he was struggling for work and Gran offered to keep Becky on the farm." She wiped her face with the back of her hands, "I don't think they thought she'd live long. They don't, do they."

"No idea…" he felt stumped by the entire thing. "So, they hid her?"

"Don't say it like that." She snapped, looking at him now.

"Like what?"

"Like they're evil or something, they aren't."

"I know they aren't."

"People don't talk about it, having a crazy child. She's still like a baby."

"You've met her?"

"A few times, we visit. She doesn't know it's me. I mean, who I am, not really." She chewed her lip, looking up at him, "I feel guilty sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm glad it isn't me, that I'm not her. Does that make me evil?"

"Of course not, you never could be." He flopped back again; sometimes Beryl annoyed the hell out of him but he would never have not wanted her around. "How did your parents… I mean, like, how…?"

"Ma found it hard, she still does. Every day. I think she would've left years ago but I was in school and Dad was adamant I'd finish it and he'd earn decent money. Sometimes she goes back for weeks."

"Is that why she quit the house? So she could just go?"

Elsie nodded, "Takes the train."

"Jeez, you lot sure hide things well. Never thought I'd catch you in a lie."

"It's not a lie, I would never lie to you. It's just… something I haven't said."

He smirked, "That sounds like a politician's excuse. Maybe you're not all I thought Elsie May Hughes."

"Well, don't worry, I won't be here much longer." She said quietly.

He replied shortly, "What do you mean?"

"We're leaving." She said it quickly, as if saying it quickly would help ease the pain she felt over it all.

"Where you going to? How's your father leaving his job?"

"He's getting a new one, he's already got one lined up, back up in Scotland. We're going to my grandma's house."

"To live?!" he spluttered, and his world suddenly imploded. "Forever?"

"Yes," she pouted; wanting to cry but determined not to.

"What about your plans? What about you going to university?"

"Dad says if I'm going to go I need to go in Scotland. Or just go to college. Or get a job." She felt her eyes tear up; she'd had plans, dreams of going to York university and being close to Charles and close to home.

"That's shit!" Charles said and before he even really thought it through he stretched his hand out across the blanket and touched her fingertips. "I'm so sorry."

She suddenly cried. She hadn't meant to, she didn't want to. But the conversation with her parents was fresh in her memory, they had sat her down only two hours since and explained that it was time to return to Scotland; that they had a duty and if they did then so did she. After weeks of arguments and weighing up options. That's it. They were leaving.

She replayed it all, and the guilt of arguing with them made her cry harder.

Charles slid his hand around hers, squeezing it tight. "Is there any way to reason with them?"

She shook her head, snuffling as she pulled a handkerchief from her jean pocket, "We need to go home because my Grandma is sick. She's old."

"Oh."

"Dad will give his notice, two months."

"Shit."

"I know."

"Never imagined you not being here."

"Me neither."

For a while they lay in silence, Charles' hand still holding hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand tenderly, comforting her without even realising he was doing it.

"You know what sounds bloody stupid about being twenty-two?"

"What?"

"Still being single."

Her heart flipped but she laughed, glad of him changing the topic.

"What a loser. Three years at university and no girlfriend."

"Beryl said you had dates."

"I do, but no real girlfriend since Alice. And she's long gone and moved on."

Elsie knew on the grapevine that Alice was already pregnant and that she and Charlie Grigg were getting married in September before the baby came but she kept that gossip to herself; Charles probably knew already but she didn't want to talk about Alice anyway.

"Maybe you just, you know, haven't met 'her' yet."

"Maybe. Bit of a laughing stock though, as it is."

"Why? With who?"

He turned on his side looking at her, "Guys at university, still not quite done 'it' yet."

Her eyes widened, but she bit down on her lip, "Not quite?"

"Well, you know, done stuff. Some stuff. But not really…" he suddenly felt his cheeks pink, "My kid sister is more knowledgeable."

Elsie laughed, "More knowledgeable than me too."

"Oh?"

"You know I haven't had a boyfriend. Not a proper one. I tried to get…" she groaned, turning onto her side too to see him properly. "I asked out Tommy."

"Tommy Wright? God!"

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not," he tried not to smile, "What did he say?"

"Not interested," she laid down again, resting her head on the blanket. "Doesn't fancy me."

"Stupid twit."

She smiled, "I think I must be ugly."

"That's crap, you're beautiful."

He laid his head down too, his face close to hers.

"Then why does nobody want to go out with me? Nobody even wants to kiss me."

"They will."

"You said that years ago."

He licked his lips, staring at her, "Maybe you're too smart for them."

"I wish."

"You are. Smarter than me."

"You're being nice to me," she teased. "I'm not used to it."

"I'm always nice to you. You know I'll always be on your side." He stretched out his hand and touched her arm, "Don't worry about boys. Truth be told, I'm kinda glad you aren't dating. Beryl isn't the same, not since she got engaged. It's all houses and wedding and babies."

"I know. I'm happy for her but…"

"I know. Me too."

His hand had slipped down to her hip, hers were in front of her, curled together, almost touching his chest.

His hair was still damp from the water and it seemed to glisten to her.

"You're freckled," he said.

"I've been outside a lot, I like reading out here."

"You come to this spot?"

She nodded, "Yes."

"On your own?"

"I don't feel lonely here."

"Oh?"

Somehow they have moved closer on the blanket, foreheads nearly touching.

"It makes me feel closer… to you." she admitted.

He allowed himself a small smile, "Don't tell me you miss me?"

"I do. I can admit that."

He swallowed. "I miss you too. Little squirt."

"Don't say that."

He briefly tickled her waist and she giggled, one of her knees coming forward to touch his leg.

He frowned, a realisation hitting him, "Be odd not seeing you here by the river. To find you and Beryl dancing in the lounge back home."

"Can we not talk about that now."

"Sure. Talk about what you want."

"It's just the sun is out, and the afternoon is pretty and we're here and…"

"And?" he prompted; she was so close to him he felt her eyelashes flutter against his cheek as she blinked.

"Would you kiss me, Charles? So, I know what it feels like?"

He would have said no, politely and sweetly told her that it should be with someone she loved and someone who loved her. But the truth was he'd been thinking of kissing her for the past two years. And he did love her. And he cared more than any boy ever would. She was his closest childhood friend and he adored her. The thought of some scrawny young lad getting his hands on her purity sickened him.

"You're sure you want to kiss an old guy like me?" he tried to tease, tried to make a joke of it but found it fell flat because his voice was serious and his palms were sweaty.

"I don't want to be the only girl who hasn't been kissed in school."

"That's not a reason."

She inched closer still to him, "Isn't it? What would be a good reason?"

"Are you even attracted to me?"

She sniggered, "Yes," her voice seemed to hiss as she drew out the word. "Are you me?"

"You're gorgeous," he tucked her hair behind her ear. "Really gorgeous. You've got eyes like sapphires."

"I like your eyes too. And your voice. You're kind too, I know we joke but you've always been so nice to me."

"I would never hurt you."

"I know. That's why I feel comfortable with you."

"I feel comfortable with you too, more so than with anyone."

"So…"

"If we do this –,"

She nodded, "I know."

He reached for her then, and she knew she'd remember each second of it for the rest of her life. One of his hands on the side of her face, his soft warm palm cupping her cheek. The other hand on her shoulder, as if to steady himself. And his eyes bore into hers, melted into hers as he moved forward. It was all she could do to look at him, to focus, until he was too close and her eyes involuntarily slipped shut because the warmth of them together was overwhelming and deeply intoxicating. His trembling bottom lip touched hers first and not even seconds later his top one met hers and she knew she moaned, or breathed, or just let out something that had been inside of her for the past ten years and needed breath. There was a God because he was there as Charles Carson kissed her; bathing them in sunlight and blessing them with all of nature in harmony.


End file.
